LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIPORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 


BTI: 


MRS.   J.   F.   MOORE. 


"  Lean  not  unto  thine  own  understanding." 

"Wherewith  shall  a  young  man  cleanse  his  way?      By  taking  heed 
thereto,  according  to  thy  word." 


Sioston  : 
^Published  by  3lenry  3toyt, 

JVo.  g,  Cornhill. 


Enfred,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 
HENRY   HOYT, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massa- 
chusetts. 


STEREOTYPED   BY  C    J.    PETERS  &   SON, 
5  WASHINGTON    ST.,    BOSTON. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
PHILIP'S  HOME 


CHAPTER  II. 
PHILIP  ALONE       ..........       l'J 

CHAPTER  in. 

\ 

A  BOUND  BOY        ..........       31 

CHAPTER  IV. 
CAPTAIN  REEVES  AND  HIS  FAMILY  ......       45 

CHAPTER  V. 
LIFE  IN  THE  WOODS    .........       83 


CHAPTER  VI. 
PHILIP'S  EYES  OPENED       ....         ....       93 

CHAPTER  VH. 
MARKET-GARDENING    .........     108 

CHAPTER  VLII. 
AN  ACCIDENT,  AND  ITS  RESULTS      ......     143 


4  CONTENTS. 

„       CHAPTER  IX. 
A  SUNDAY  RIDE 169 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  LOVE  OF  MONEY •       •       •     191 

CHAPTER  XI. 
CONFESSION 217 

CHAPTER  XEI. 
A  NEW  OCCUPATION       ...  238 

CHAPTER 

PHILIP'S  GUARDIAN       .          .         . 


CHAPTER  XTV. 
BEARING  ANOTHER'S  BURDENS 285 

CHAPTER  XV. 
SCENES  op  A  NIGHT 305 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
JEROME'S  TRIAL 321 

CHAPTER  XVH. 
TWENTY-ONE '....331 


LINSIDE    FARM. 


CHAPTER   I. 
PHILIP'S    HOME. 

OU  could  only  see  the  top  of  his 
head.  But  it  was  just  such  a  head 
as  made  you  wish  he  would  lift  it,  and 
show  the  face  that  was  bowed  over, 
and  at  that  moment  contracted  with  study  as 
profound  as  that  intellect  in  its  morning 
was  capable  of  grappling  with.  The  round 
head  hung  motionless,  except  now  and  then  a 
slight  toss,  just  enough  to  throw  the  mass  of 
brown  curls  that  covered  it  into  new  and  more 


6  LINSIDE    FARM. 

picturesque  groupings.  At  last  the  head  was 
fairly  lifted.  The  usually  bright  face  was 
clouded,  the  brow  slightly  drawn  down. 
Lifting  his  eye,  darkened  with  weariness  and 
discouragement,  to  his  father's  face,  and  holding 
his  slim  finger  between  the  leaves  of  his  book, 
Philip  said,  "  I've  just  a  good  mind  to." 

"  To  what,  my  son  ?  "  asked  Mr.   Landon. 

"  To  look  and  see  what  the  answer  is. 
I've  tried  every  single  figure  all  the  way 
from  one  to  nine,  and  it  isn't  enough  yet ; 
and  Mr.  Anderson  said  we  must  never  go 
above  nine." 

Philip  was  in  the  intricacies  of  long  division. 
He  had,  as  he  had  said,  tried  every  one  of  the 
nine  digits  for  the  next  figure  of  his  quotient, 
and  none  would  bring  the  right  result.  He 
had  forgotten  that  his  error  might  lie  farther 
back. 

"  If  I  only  knew  what  figure  to  put  up 
here,"  he  continued,  "  it  would  come  so  easy ; 


PHILIP'S  HOME.  7 

and,  if  I  should  peep  in  and  see,  it  would  save 
me  so  much  trouble." 

Mr.  Landon  looked  smilingly  upon  the  per- 
plexed face  of  his  little  son,  and  said,  "  Can't 
you  think  what  else  Mr.  Anderson  said  about  it, 
whenever  nine  was  not  enough  to  multiply 
by?" 

Philip  passed  his  hand  through  his  tangled 
curls,  and  thought  a  moment.  "  Oh,  yes !  I 
know  now  :  and  I  see  as  plain  as  daylight  where 
I  made  the  mistake." 

In  a  moment  it  was  corrected,  and  Philip's 
task  was  accomplished.  Putting  away  his  slate 
and  book,  he  drew  his  low  chair  nearer  his 
father,  and  laid  his  tired  head  on  his  knee.  His 
father  was  reading ;  but  Philip  knew  the  dear 
caressing  hand  would  in  a  moment  more  be  laid 
on  those  beautiful  brown  curls  of  his,  and  so  it 
was.  It  was  not  the  curls  Philip  was  thinking 
about,  but  only  the  hand.  The  touch  of  those 
fingers,  passing  in  and  out  among  his  tangled 


8  LINSWE  FARM. 

locks,  rested  him  so.  But  it  was  the  curls  the 
father  thought  of,  and  the  head  that  rested 
lightly  on  his  knee.  The  touch  brought  peace 
and  rest  to  his  heart  too.  He  was  weary  from 
his  business ;  but  the  tired  look  faded  out  as  he 
read  on,  one  pleasant  paragraph  after  another, 
his  fingers  still  straying  among  the  locks  of 
silky  brown  hair  ;  and  Philip's  face  grew  bright, 
as  the  light  from  the  gas  burning  over  his 
mother's  work-table  lay  upon  it.  The  warm 
glow  from  the  grate  heaped  with  burning  coal 
danced  through  the  room,  lighting  up  every  dim 
nook  under  the  table  and  under  the  sofa, 
brightening  the  carpet  and  the  curtains,  and 
seeming  to  touch  and  rest  with  special  joy 
wherever  the  gas-light  could  not  penetrate. 

Father  and  son  sat  still  in  their  quiet  enjoy- 
ment for  a  time :  but  Philip  was  never  still  very 
long ;  and  he  soon  lifted  his  head,  and,  raising 
his  bright  eyes,  sparkling  with  their  usual  mirth- 
fulness,  to  his  father's  face,  said,  not  however  in 


PHILIP'S  HOME.  9 

words,  but  simply  in  the  expression  of  his  beam- 
ing face,  "  Are  you  most  ready  to  lay  down 
that  book  and  have  a  frolic  with  me?" 

Yes :  Mr.  Landon  was  nearly  ready.  He  felt 
the  sparkle  of  those  blue  eyes  resting  on  him, 
though  he  was  still  looking  intently  at  his  book. 
A  moment  more,  and  the  book  dropped  ;  and 
Philip  knew  that  the  time  for  his  nightly  frolic 
had  come.  Springing  up,  and  passing  his  hand 
caressingly  over  his  father's  head,  and  stroking 
his  full  beard,  and  then  entering  at  once  into 
the  unlimited  privilege  of  the  moment,  he  tossed 
up  his  father's  hair  in  confusion,  and  played 
various  other  pranks  with  him,  till  the  dignified 
man  of  business  looked  little  more  dignified  than 
his  playful  boy. 

By  and  by  the  play  ended,  and  Philip  stood 
for  a  moment  quietly  beside  his  father's  chair. 

"  So  you  wanted  to  peep,  did  you  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Landon. 

"  Yes :  I  wanted  to  ever  so  bad.  Other 
boys  do." 


10  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  But,  I  hope  my  boy  never  will.  I  should 
be  very  much  ashamed  of  him  if  I  knew  he 
appeared  in  his  class  with  an  example  correctly 
wrought,  the  result  obtained  by  dishonest 
means.  You  wouldn't  steal,  would  you, 
Philip?" 

"  I  guess  I  wouldn't,"  replied  the  boy. 
u  That  wouldn't  be  stealing,  would  it?  " 

"  It  would  be  dishonesty  ;  and  you  know,  my 
boy,  how  often  I  have  told  you  that  *  honesty  is 
the  best  policy,'  always,  Philip.  That  is  the 
principle  I  have  acted  upon  all  my  life ;  and  I 
have  succeeded  pretty  well,"  he  added,  glan- 
cing complacently  around  the  comfortable  apart- 
ment, his  eye  finally  resting  on  his  wife,  who 
sat  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  busy  with 
her  sewing,  from  which  her  eyes  wandered 
occasionally  to  a  rosebud  of  a  face,  half  buried 
in  the  pillows  of  a  crib  which  she  had  been  now 
and  then  rocking  lightly,  as  the  little  nestler 
within  had  stirred. 


PHILIP'S  HOME.  11 

Yes :  Mr.  Landon  had  succeeded.  He  had 
commenced  life  with  no  capital  except  a  fair 
education,  industrious  habits,  and  a  strict  law 
of  integrity,  to  which  he  had  scrupulously 
adhered  through  all  the  temptations  of  an 
early  struggle  with  poverty.  He  had  come 
through  that  struggle,  had  established  a  thriving 
business,  built  a  comfortable  house,  and  now 
sat  a  king  in  his  own  household.  Through 
all  his  efforts,  his  confidence  had  been  in  this 
ruling  maxim  of  his  ;  and  like  the  heathens  of 
old,  who  sacrificed  to  their  net,  and  burned 
incense  to  their  drag,  he,  in  his  inmost  heart, 
paid  the  tribute  of  his  worship  to  the  principle 
of  honesty,  an  idol  as  truly  as  if  he  had 
personated  it  in  a  graven  image,  and  fallen 
down  unto  it.  No  thought  of  an  overruling 
Providence  ever  entered  into  his  mind ;  no 
acknowledgment  of  the  hand  that  had  bestowed 
his  blessings  ever  rose  to  his  lips :  but,  proudly 
»s  the  Pharisee  of  whom  the  Saviour  spake,  he 


12  LINSIDE  FARM. 

stood  up  before  God  and  man,  saying  not  to 
God,  but  to  his  principle  of  integrity  that  he 
carried  always  in  his  heart,  "  I  thank  thee 
that  I  am  not  as  other  men  are  :  "  though  further 
than  that,  even  with  the  Pharisee's  prayer,  he 
could  not  go,  for  he  neither  fasted  nor  prayed, 
nor  gave  tithes  for  religious  purposes.  He 
simply  lived  unto  himself  and  his  family,  so  far 
as  it  is  possible  for  any  one  to  do  so  amid  the 
various  complications  of  human  society. 

"  Bedtime,  Philip,"  said  his  mother. 

Obedience  was  the  law  of  that  household, 
and  Philip  at  once  went  to  his  mother's  side. 
He  knew  what  to  expect  next.  There  was  no 
household  altar  of  prayer  in  that  home.  It  was 
Mrs.  Landon's  great  grief;  and,  so  far  as  it  lay 
in  her  power,  she  had  from  the  first  resolved  to 
supply  the  deficiency.  Every  night  she  read 
to  Philip  a  portion  of  God's  word,  and  then 
went  to  his  room  to  pray  with  him  before 
leaving  him  for  the  night.  He  expected  it  as 


PHILIP'S  HOME.  13 

confidently    as    he     expected     his    good-night 
kiss. 

That  night  she  read  but  a  few  verses ;  but 
she  read  them  with  an  impressive  tone  and  a 
deep  solemnity  of  manner  that  were  prompted 
by  an  anxious  heart.  She  felt  that  the  boy 
standing  beside  her,  so  soon  to  go  forth  amid  the 
temptations  of  a  busy  world,  needed  something 
more  than  a  maxim  of  morality  to  shield  him. 
Therefore  she  read,  "  Wherewith  shall  a  young 
man  cleanse  his  way  ?  By  taking  heed  thereto, 
according  to  thy  word.  With  my  whole  heart 
have  I  sought  thee  :  oh  !  let  me  not  wander 
from  thy  commandments.  Thy  word  have  I 
hid  in  my  heart,  that  I  might  not  sin  against 
thee.  Blessed  art  thou,  O  Lord !  teach  me 
thy  statutes.  With  my  lips  have  I  declared 
all  the  judgments  of  thy  mouth.  I  have 
rejoiced  in  the  way  of  thy  testimonies,  as  much 
as  in  all  riches.  I  will  meditate  in  thy  precepts, 
and  have  respect  unto  thy  ways.  I  will  delight 


14  LINSIDE  FARM, 

myself  in  thy  statutes:  I  will  not  forget  thy 
word." 

Mr.  Landon  listened  while  she  read.  He 
admired  the  tender  modulations  of  her  voice  ; 
he  rejoiced  that  his  boy  had  such  a  mother : 
hut,  further  than  that,  his  thoughts  did  not  go. 
Resting  complacently  upon  the  uprightness  of 
his  character,  it  never  occurred  to  him  that 
either  Philip  or  himself  needed  the  word  of 
God  for  a  guide,  any  further  than  to  lead  to  a 
firm  establishment  of  that  same  integrity  in 
which  he  took  so  much  pride. 

Mrs.  Landon  finished  her  reading,  and  left 
the  room  with  Philip.  Mr.  Landon  knew  she 
would  in  a  moment  more  be  kneeling  by  the 
bedside  of  her  boy,  commending  him  to 
the  watchful  care  of  Him  who  never  slumbers 
nor  sleeps ;  he  knew  how  fervently  she  would 
pray  that  the  dear  child  might  be  kept  from 
the  way  of  the  destroyer ;  he  knew,  too,  that 
he  would  himself  be  remembered  in  those 


PHILIP'S  HOME.  15 

petitions,  for  Philip  often  betrayed  the  secrets 
of  that  hour  :  yet,  knowing  all  this,  he 
thought  of  nothing  further,  as  he  remembered 
his  thriving  business,  his  comfortable  home,  his 
wife  in  whom  his  heart  trusted,  his  growing 
boy,  and  his  sleeping  babe,  than  that  he  had 
succeeded  well  in  life. 

The  next  morning,  Philip  went  to  school  with 
his  carefully-wrought  examples  neatly  traced 
on  his  slate,  and  feeling  over  his  work  the  same 
sort  of  complacency  with  which  his  father  was 
in  the  habit  of  contemplating  the  results  of  his 
life-long  labors.  At  the  door  he  met  a  class- 
mate, and  not  only  a  classmate,  but  a  rival. 

As  these  ten-year-old  aspirants  in  juvenile 
learning  met,  and  eagerly  compared  their 
previous  preparation  made  at  home  for  the  class 
of  the  day,  an  observer  would  have  been 
struck  with  the  various  contrasts  between  the 
two  boys.  Philip,  being  always  the  better 
dressed  of  the  two,  invariably  assumed  an 


1C  LINSIDE  FARM. 

attitude  of  superiority  when  Andy  Fleming 
appeared.  And  Andy  as  naturally  allowed 
him  to  do  so.  If  it  were  only  that  Philip 
stood  upon  the  top  step,  and  Andy  below  him, 
in  some  way  this  relative  position  was  always 
expressed.  Andy's  frowsy  head,  and  coarse, 
patched,  and  not  over-clean  garments,  formed 
a  striking  contrast  to  Philip's  glossy  curls  and 
neat,  well-fitting,  and  stylish  suit.  But  the 
contrast  was  not  limited  to  their  apparel. 
Philip's  bright  face  beamed  already  with  the 
impression  of  the  manly  qualities  his  father  so 
carefully  cultivated  within  him ;  while  Andy's 
keen,  gray  eye,  though  glittering  with  a  cer- 
tain expression  of  smartness,  seldom  rested 
fully  and  fairly  in  your  face,  even  for  a 
moment. 

They  gravely  examined  each  other's  work, 
alike  in  every  particular  except  order  and  neat- 
ness. Philip  then  returned  Andy's  slate, 
saying,  "I  bet  you  looked  in  the  book." 


PHILIPS  HOME.  17 

"  Of  course  I  did.  Do  you  suppose  I'd  be 
such  a  fool  as  not  to  look,  when  I  could  do  it 
in  half  the  time  by  looking,  and  be  sure  of 
getting  it  right  besides  ?  I'd  like  to  know  who 
don't  look  ?  " 

"  I  don't,"  said  Philip,  drawing  himself  up 
proudly.  "  You  don't  catch  me  doing  any 
such  mean  trick  as  that." 

"  Good  reason  why,"  said  Andy  sharply. 
"  Your  father  does  it  all  for  you.  Good  reason 
why  you  don't  look." 

Philip  condescended  no  answer ;  but,  seizing 
Andy  by  the  arm,  with  the  advantage  of 
standing  a  step  higher  than  he,  he  hurled  him 
from  the  steps  with  a  force  that  sent  him  reel- 
ing to  the  ground.  Philip,  having  taken  this 
satisfaction  for  his  wounded  honor,  walked  into 
the  house  without  waiting  to  see  the  effect  of 
Andy's  fall. 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  remember  how 
nearly  he  had  yielded  to  the  temptation  to  peep, 


18  L1NSIDE  FARM. 

nor  how  truly  his  father's  suggestions  had 
helped  him  over  his  difficulty. 

Andy,  not  much  hurt  either  in  mind  or 
body,  recovered  from  his  fall,  and  entered  soon 
after.  In  the  class,  the  two  boys  presented 
their  correct  work,  and  received  equal  praise 
from  their  teacher,  regardless  of  the  widely 
different  circumstances  in  the  midst  of  which 
their  work  had  been  performed. 

In  Andy  Fleming's  miserable  home,  there 
was  no  one  to  whisper  to  him  a  sentiment  of 
morality  or  honor.  The  boy's  acuteness  was 
permitted  to  develop  itself  in  any  way  that 
came  most  natural  to  him ;  and  if  he,  by  a 
sharp  exercise  of  his  wits,  could  deceive  his 
teachers,  and  gain  a  higher  reputation  than  he 
deserved,  so  much  the  better. 


PHILIP  ALONE. 


19 


CHAPTER  II. 


PHILIP   ALO  NE. 


' 


IVE  years  later,  three  graves, 
two  of  full  size,  and  a  little  one 
beside,  were  grouped  around  a  granite 
column  which  Mr.  Landon  had  reared 
to  mark  the  resting-place  chosen  for  his  family 
in  a  new  and  beautiful  cemetery.  Close  by  the 
margin  of  a  little  lake,  and  underneath  a 
group  of  spreading  beeches  of  native  growth, 
he  had  chosen  his  place  of  family  sepulture, 
and  had  superintended  the  erection  of  the  plain 
shaft  marked  with  the  word  "  Landon." 
Here,  in  imagination,  he  had  seen  himself  laid, 
an  old  and  withered  man,  and  his  wife  beside 
him,  with  perhaps  children  and  grandchildren 
clustering  around ;  but  all  that  was  to  be  many 


20  LINSIDE  FARM. 

years  hence.  At  the  end  of  five  years,  these 
three  graves,  and  an  orphan  boy  of  fifteen, 
bound  out  to  a  farmer  two  miles  away,  were 
all  that  remained  of  that  happy  household. 
The  house  was  occupied  by  strangers,  and  the 
name  had  disappeared  from  all  business  trans- 
actions. 

First  the  babe,  then  his  wife,  then  Mr. 
Landon  himself,  had  been  removed  by  death. 
The  estate  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  ex- 
ecutors, who  had  found  it  necessary  to  sell  the 
home  and  the  store-building,  in  order  to  bring 
the  business  into  any  manageable  shape. 
Nothing  being  left  for  Philip's  support  or 
education,  there  was  no  alternative  but  to  place 
him  where  he  could  at  least  earn  his  daily 
bread.  Yet  the  executors,  it  was  said,  had 
made  a  handsome  thing  of  it ;  at  least  they  had 
managed  to  secure  a  good  compensation  for 
services  rendered,  so  many  said.  Of  all  this 
Philip  knew  nothing.  His  knowledge  of  the 


PHILIP  ALONE.  21 

integrity  of  his  father  had  given  him  the  im- 
pression that  all  business-men  were  equally 
upright ;  and,  for  years,  not  a  shadow  of  suspi- 
cion crossed  his  mind  that  he  had  been  unfairly 
dealt  with.  There  were  no  near  relatives  to 
look  after  the  interests  of  the  orphan  boy,  and 
he  could  only  submit  to  the  hard  requirements 
of  the  law. 

When  he  had  first  been  asked  what  he  would 
like  best  to  do,  while  still  stupefied  by  the  final 
shock  that  made  him  a  poor  and  friendless 
orphan,  he  had  answered,  "  I  would  rather  go 
on  a  farm  than  any  thing  else."  Any  change 
seemed  desirable  to  the  poor  boy.  He  had  no 
heart  to  live  in  the  town  where  his  happy  days 
had  been  passed.  It  seemed  to  him  it  would 
be  more  than  he  could  bear,  to  pass  daily  his 
dear  old  home,  his  school  haunts,  his  father's 
place  of  business.  Besides,  he  had  always  had 
a  leaning  to  country-life.  The  bracing  air,  the 
open,  breezy  plains,  the  green  grass,  the  over- 


22  LINSIDE  FARM. 

looking  hills,  all  drew  him  by  a  powerful 
charm.  He  had  occasionally  gone  out  for  a 
day  of  relaxation  from  school,  and  planted  corn 
with  a  school-fellow,  or  raked  hay,  or  bound 
sheaves  in  the  harvest-field ;  and,  making  it 
half  work,  half  frolic,  and  quitting  when  he 
pleased,  he  fancied  that  he  loved  a  farmer's  life, 
and  therefore  declared  this  his  choice.  Mr. 
Glenn,  who  was  Philip's  guardian,  and  also  the 
most  active  of  the  executors,  —  indeed,  the  one 
who  did  all  the  business,  and  did  it  in  his  own 
way,  —  thought  no  other  arrangement  would 
answer  the  purpose  so  well  as  that  Philip 
should  be  bound.  He  wanted  no  fickleness,  he 
said.  If  Philip  went  to  a  farm,  he  must  go  to 
stay.  So  the  papers  were  made  out  that  bound 
Philip  to  Linside  Farm  for  six  years,  till  he 
should  be  twenty-one.  "  It  will  be  only  six 
years,"  Mr.  Glenn  had  said  to  him  ;  "  and  then 
you  will  be  a  man ;  and  if  you  don't  like  the 
business,  why,  then  "  — 


PHILIP  ALONE.  23 

Six  years  !  To  Mr.  Glenn,  in  -his  prime  of 
life,  it  seemed  but  a  little  while,  a  mere  experi- 
ment ;  but,  to  Philip,  six  years  seemed  almost 
an  eternity.  It  was  the  stupendous  chasm 
that  divided  his  boyhood  from  his  manhood  ; 
and  he  almost  felt  that  in  six  years,  if  it  ever 
should  pass  by,  it  would  be  too  late  to  make 
any  further  changes  in  his  path  of  life.  Still, 
he  was  content.  The  thought  of  going  into 
the  country  called  up  to  his  mind  the  merry 
days  he  had  spent,  now  and  then,  out  under  the 
sweet  sky,  amid  the  rustling  corn  and  fra- 
grant clover.  Besides,  he  must  go  somewhere. 
He  was  homeless,  and  the  thought  of  con- 
finement in  a  store  or  shop  was  not  to  be  tole- 
rated. 

So  the  indentures  were  made  out,  and  he  was 
a  bound  boy.  He  did  not  feel  the  bonds  then. 
It  was  simply  an  agreement  to  stay  so  long ;  or, 
rather,  it  came  to  his  mind  as  security,  for  a 
borne  for  so  long ;  and,  with  as  much  cheer- 


24  LINSIDE  FARM. 

fulness   as   a   homeless   orphan    boy   could    be 
expected  to  feel,  Philip  looked  forward  to  Lin 
side. 

The  name  possessed  a  sort  of  fascination  for 
him.  He  was  a  little  inclined  to  romance. 
The  name  had  been  applied  to  the  place  by  the 
farmer's  sentimental,  novel-reading  daughter. 
She  had  discovered  that  "  Lin  "  was  a  Scotch 
name  for  a  babbling  brook,  finding  its  way  over 
rocks  and  pebbles,  with  now  and  then  a  little 
plunge.  And  as  just  such  a  brook  ran  by  her 
father's  farm,  forming  its  boundary  on  one  side, 
it  struck  her  fancy  to  call  the  place  Linside. 
She  gave  herself  credit  for  great  originality  in 
coining  the  appellation  ;  and  so  persevering  was 
she  in  calling  her  home  Linside,  inviting  her 
friends  to  Linside,  having  all  her  letters 
directed  to  Linside  Farm,  Chesterfield,  that 
the  name  had  finally  outlived  the  ridicule 
of  being  a  notion  of  the  romantic  Miss  So- 
phronia,  and  had  come  into  general  use  as  the 


PHILIP  ALONE.  25 

name  by  which  the  farm  of  Mr.  Reeves  was 
known. 

It  was  fall  when  Philip  went  to  Linside 
Farm.  It  had  been  some  months  since  his 
father's  death.  During  that  time,  while  the 
estate  was  being  settled  up,  Philip  had  staid  at 
the  house  of  Mr.  Glenn.-  Mr.  Glenn  was 
owing  the  estate ;  and  he  had  kept  Philip,  so  it 
was  said,  till  his  board-bill,  by  careful  manage- 
ment, was  made  to  balance  the  indebtedness  ; 
and  then  the  above-mentioned  arrangement  was 
made,  whereby  the  friendless  boy  was  well  pro- 
vided for,  so  said  Mr.  Glenn. 

The  night  before  Philip  was  to  take  up  his 
abode  at  Linside  Farm,  he  walked  to  the  cem- 
etery, where,  grouped  around  the  central 
column,  his  father  and  mother  and  baby-sister 
lay.  It  was  a  beautiful  October  evening.  The 
soft  haze  of  Indian  summer  lay  over  the  land- 
scape, the  trees  had  put  on  their  autumn  glory. 
Tn  his  lonely  walk  of  two  miles,  Philip's  heart 


•6  LINSIDE  FARM. 

yielded  to  the  impression  of  calm  beauty 
around  him,  and,  though  sad,  he  was  not 
depressed.  Wandering  pensively  along,  he 
came  to  the  turnstile  that  admitted  him  to 
the  burial-grounds.  He  felt  in  no  haste  to 
reach  the  consecrated  spot  that  held  his  heart's 
treasures,  but  sauntered  slowly  through  the 
withered  grass,  reading  here  and  there  the 
familiar  names  inscribed  on  the  monumental 
stones,  and  recalling  the  happy  scenes  of  his 
past  life.  Here  lay  a  companion  of  his  mother; 
there  a  friend  of  his  father ;  there,  again,  a  play- 
mate of  his  own  boyhood ;  and  again  a  meek 
brown-eyed  little  girl,  whose  recalled  image 
seemed  a  vision  of  Paradise. 

Perhaps  it  was  not  a  good  preparation  for 
the  duties  upon  which  he  was  about  to  enter, 
thus  vividly  to  recall  the  happy  past.  Yet  who 
has  not  heard  in  his  heart,  at  times,  that  cry  of 
Nature  that  will  not  be  stilled  except  beside  a 
grave  ? 


PHILIP  ALONE.  27 

So  Philip  wandered  till  he  came  suddenly 
upon  the  little  enclosure  within  which  slept  his 
own  dead.  Alas  !  there  was  nothing  else  now 

in  the  world  that  he  could  call  his  own,  save 

» 

those  three  graves.  They  were  his  by  a  title 
no  litigation  could  ever  annul.  He  had  a  key 
in  his  pocket  with  which  to  unlock  the  small 
gate ;  hut,  in  the  fulness  of  his  youthful 
strength  and  agility,  he  placed  his  hand  upon  the 
low  iron  fence,  and  leaped  over  on  the  dry  grass. 
He  sat  down  upon  the  base  of  the  column. 
The  three  were  sleeping  near,  so  near  ;  and 
yet,  should  he  call  never  so  loudly,  and  with 
never  so  much  anguish  in  his  cry,  they  could 
not  answer  him.  Oh  for  that  hand  to  stray 
once  more  among  the  brown  curls !  They  were 
less  glossy  now,  and  the  bright  rings  were  more 
closely  shorn.  Oh  for  that  mother's  voice  to 
breathe  one  more  holy  psalm,  one  more 
prayer ! 

For  a   time   the  boy's  spirit  seemed  utterly 


28  LINSIDE  FARM. 

crushed.  It  is  sad,  when,  to  one  whose  hairs  are 
already  gray,  life  becomes  an  intolerable  burden  ; 
but  sadder  yet,  when,  to  a  fresh  young  heart,  its 
long  pilgrimage,  stretching  forward,  seems  to  lie 
through  a  dreary  waste ;  when  the  shoulders, 
still  young,  feel  the  pressure  of  oncoming  years 
as  a  load  they  would  gladly  shrink  from  taking 
up. 

But,  both  in  body  and  mind,  Philip  was 
healthy.  No  morbid  sentimentalism  had  ever 
been  cherished  in  that  sunny  spirit ;  and,  after 
the  first  tide  of  loneliness  and  grief  swept  by 
like  a  merciless  wave,  flinging  him  weak  and 
exhausted  on  a  barren  shore,  strength  and 
hope  returned.  His  father's  last  words 
seemed  to  be  spoken  to  him  from  the  grassy 
mound  at  his  feet.  "  My  son,  you  are  left 
alone  ;  but  you  have  a  life  to  live.  Live  honor- 
ably." 

"  I  will,"  said  Philip  aloud.  He  was 
startled  by  the  sound  of  his  own  voice ;  yet  it 


PHILIP  ALONE.  29 

seemed  to  give  him  strength  to  hear  it.  A 
slight  echo  brought  back  his  words  to  his  ear. 
"  I  will,"  he  repeated  :  "  I  have  a  life  to  live, 
and  I  will  live  honorably." 

A  little  more  ^self-knowledge  would  have 
made  the  boy  speak  less  confidently.  A  sanc- 
tified self-knowledge  would  have  led  him  to 
pray.  But  he  did  neither.  He  simply  said, 
"  I  will." 

The  sun  had  gone  down  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  little  lake,  leaving  the  water  a  sheet  of 
burnished  gold.  Philip's  thoughts  wandered 
from  himself,  from  the  graves  around  him,  and 
feasted  on  the  beauty  of  the  world.  "  Ah,  yes  ! 
what  a  beautiful  world,  if  there  were  no  graves 
in  it,"  he  said  at  length.  "  But  the  graves 
make  it  seem  cold  and  dreary." 

By  and  by  he  rose  ;  and  again,  over  the  little 
sheet  of  water  that  lay  before  him,  rung  out 
his  firm  "  I  will." 

Then,  taking  the  key  from  his  pocket,   he 


30 


LINSIDE    FARM. 


opened  the  gate,  and  stepped  out.  He  felt  less 
boyish  than  half  an  hour  before.  He  left  the 
three  graves,  and  beside  them  another  grave, 
wherein  lay  buried  all  his  past.  For  him  now 
there  was  only  a  future. 


A  BOUND  BOY.  31 


CHAPTER    III. 


A    BOUND    BOY. 


lay   on    the 

banks  of  Rock  River,  a  small 
stream,  so  called  from  the  nature 
of  its  bed. 

When  Philip  returned  from  the  cemetery, 
his  greatest  desire  was  to  get  out  of  Chester- 
field as  early  as  possible  the  next  morning,  and 
beo-in  his  new  life.  Mr.  Glenn  was  to  take 

O 

him  out  with  his  trunk,  containing  his  earthly 
fortune,  in  his  own  buggy.  Something  de- 
tained Mr.  Glenn  for  several  hours,  so  that  it 
was  nearly  ten  o'clock  before  they  were  ready 
to  start.  As  they  crossed  the  Rock-River 
bridge  to  go  to  Linside  Farm,  about  two  miles 
away  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  Philip 


'>-  LINSIDE  FARM. 

felt  for  a  moment  that  he  would  give  any  thing 
if  he  could  only  go  back.  How  could  he  leave 
all  he  had  ever  known  and  loved,  and  go  out 
into  an  unknown  world  to  make  his  way  alone  ? 
The  first  thought  that  gave  him  strength  was, 
"  I  must ;  "  and,  as  his  strength  gathered,  he 
repeated,  as  the  night  before,  "  I  will." 

Mr.  Glenn  drove  on  rapidly,  absorbed  in  his 
own  thoughts,  taking  no  more  note  of  the  hoy 
at  his  side  than  if  he  had  been  some  article  of 
merchandise. 

At  length  Philip  timidly  remarked,  "  I  wish 
I  was  going  farther  off." 

"  I  don't,"  replied  Mr.  Glenn  sharply. 
"  It's  as  much  as  I  know  how  to  do  to  spare 
time  to  take  you  out  here.  I'm  in  an  awful 
hurry  this  morning.  The  truth  is,  you  might 
have  walked,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  this  trunk. 
Many  a  boy  has  gone  to  a  new  home  with  only 
a  bundle  on  his  back.  You're  uncommon  well 
off,  if  you  only  knew  it." 


A  BOUND  BOY.  33 

Philip  ventured  no  reply. 

After  a  few  moments,  Mr.  Glenn  added  with 
a  softened  manner  (perhaps  he  was  touched 
with  the  boy's  silence),  "  What  do  you  want  to 
go  farther  off  for,  Philip  ?  " 

"  'Twould  be  newer,"  answered  Philip.     "  I 

mldn't  be  tempted  all  the  time  to  be  running 

er  to  town." 

Mr.  Glenn  laughed  a  short,  uneasy  laugh. 
"  I  don't  think  you'll  be  much  troubled  that 
way,  Philipv  But  you're  uncommon  well  off, 
I  must  say,  and  "  — 

Mr.  Glenn  stopped  short.  He  was  going  to 
add,  "  Beggars  mustn't  be  choosers ;  "  but  .his 
eye  met  the  calm  blue  eye  of  the  orphan,  and 
he  could  not  say  it. 

Nothing  more  was  said  until  they  came  in 
sight  of  Linside  Farm,  Philip's  home  !  Alas 
that  he  should  come  to  it  from  such  a  cosey  nest 
of  love  as  he  had  once  known  I 

The  farm  lay  on  the  left  side  of  the  road  as 

3 


34  LINSIDE  FARM. 

they  approached  it  from  town.  Mr.  Reeves  had 
lately  built  a  large  brick  house,  after  having 
been  for  several  years  urged  to  do  so  by  his 
wife  and  his  daughter  Sophronia.  The  house 
looked  comfortable,  but  stood  exposed  to  the 
bare  sunlight.  The  gravelly  soil  had  been 
levelled  off  somewhat  evenly  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  a  native  growth  of  grass  and  clover, 
mingled  with  coarse,  unsightly  weeds,  covered 
the  ground.  Not  a  tree  nor  a  shrub  had  been 
planted,  nor  a  turf  laid,  though  Sophy  hud 
managed  to  lay  out  a  patch  of  ground  in  beds 
and  walks,  which  then  were  sere  and  brown 
after  the  frosts,  but  which  had  been  gay  with 
marigolds  and  poppies  a  few  weeks  earlier. 

Before  reaching  the  house,  they  had  passed 
the  stables,  built  close  to  the  public  road,  with 
a  reeking  barnyard  which  extended  to  the  very 
borders  of  the  street.  Outside  the  barnyard 
fence,  in  the  road,  lay  several  pig-troughs ;  and 
the  ground  was  covered  with  corn-cobs,  looking 


A 'BOUND  BOY.  35 

as  if  they  might  have  been  the  accumulations 
of  years. 

"  I  think  I'll  get  Mr.  Reeves  to  let  me  clean 
up  all  this,  the  very  first  thing  I  do,"  said 
Philip.  "  I  suppose  he  doesn't  have  time." 

Mr.  Glenn  looked  at  him  and  smiled.  Philip 
thought  the  smile  was  in  commendation  of  his 
proposition  ;  but  Mr.  Glenn  said  nothing. 

As  they  stopped  in  front  of  the  house,  Philip 
glanced  up,  wondering  which  of  those  win- 
dows above  would  look  out  of  his  room,  and 
hoping  it  might  be  the  one  that  looked  towards 
the  babbling  brook  that  crossed  the  road  a  few 
rods  farther  on. 

"  Well,  jump  out,"  said  Mr.  Glenn,  "  and 
hoist  out  your  trunk  in  a  jiffy  ;  for,  as  I  told 
you,  I'm  in  an  awful  hurry." 

"  Aren't  you  going  in  with  me  ? "  asked 
Philip. 

"  Me  !  No.  I  don't  know  the  family.  I've 
only  seen  Capt.  Reeves.  Make  haste,  boy." 


36  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Philip,  with  a  good  deal  of  effort,  got  his 
trunk  to  the  ground  ;  and  Mr.  Glenn,  nodding 
to  him,  said  "  Good-by,"  and,  whirling  his 
horse  quickly  round,  started  back  to  town  on  a 
round  trot,  leaving  Philip  with  his  hand  raised 
for  a  parting  grasp,  and  his  ears  open  to  drink 
in  the  good  wishes  and  farewell  words  of  Mr. 
Glenn.  He  was  alone  in  the  world  now,  and 
the  consciousness  of  the  fact  came  over  him 
with  terrible  power. 

"  It  won't  do  for  me  to  stand  here,  not  a 
minute,"  he  thought.  "  I  shall  break  down." 

So,  resolutely  seizing  his  trunk,  he  dragged  it 
inside  the  gate,  and  then  walked  to  the  door 
and  rang  the  bell.  It  was  answered  by  Miss 
Sophy  in  person. 

"  Is  Mr.  Reeves  in  ?  "  asked  Philip  timidly. 

"  No,"  said  she,  and  waited  for  something 
further. 

"  Shall  I  come  in  ?  "  asked  Philip.  "  I  sup- 
pose he  expected  me  to-day." 


A   BOUND  BOY.  37 

"  You're  the  boy  ? "  she  asked  in  amaze- 
ment. "  Go  to  the  back  door ;  "  and  instantly 
shut  the  door  in  his  face. 

Philip's  hot  young  blood  boiled  for  a 
moment ;  but,  as  on  the  bridge,  "  I  must " 
solved  his  questions  and  cooled  his  rising 
wrath.  Going  back  to  the  gate  to  fetch  his 
trunk  gave  him  a  little  time  to  recover  himself; 
and,  by  the  time  he  had  tugged  with  it  around 
a  path  evidently  much  more  frequented  than 
the  one  that  led  to  the  front  door,  he  was  quite 
calm,  though  somewhat  out  of  breath. 

"          •         O 

Here  he  was  evidently  expected ;  for  the 
door  opened  before  he  reached  it,  and  a  woman 
looked  out  and  greeted  him  with  a  smile. 

That  smile  went  to  his  heart  more  than  Miss 
Sophy's  rudeness.  That  smile  he  was  to  see 
many  times,  darted  upon  him  warm  and  cheery, 
like  a  gleam  of  sunshine. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Mrs.  Reeves.  "  Let  me 
see  :  what's  your  name  ?  " 


38  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  Philip  Landon,"  he  replied,  as  he  stood 
before  her,  cap  in  hand. 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  remember.  Come  in,  Philip. 
Bring  in  your  trunk.  You  might  as  well  take 
it  right  up  to  your  room." 

This  was  what  Philip  wanted.  He  desired, 
more  than  any  thing  else,  to  see  the  room  he  was 
to  occupy.  His  own  room  at  home  had  been  a 
bright  and  sunny  room,  opening  out  on  a 
balcony  that  overlooked  half  the  town,  and 
gave  a  splendid  view  up  and  down  Rock  River, 
upon  which  he  had  been  content  to  feast  his 
eyes  for  hours  together. 

He  followed  Mrs.  Reeves,  who  opened  a 
door  leading  out  of  the  large  dining-room 
which  he  had  entered.  Up  a  narrow,  winding 
back-stairs  she  disappeared,  he  following. 

As  she  reached  the  top,  she  looked  back, 
saying,  "  Oh !  you  haven't  got  your  trunk. 
Bring  it  right  along.  I  don't  want  to  come  up 
again  to  show  you  where  to  put  your  things." 


A  BOUND  BOY.  39 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  can  get  it  up 
alone,"  he  replied  doubtfully. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  you  can.  Catch  hold  and  try. 
My  man  would  say  you  are  not  worth  much  if 
you  can't  do  that. 

Jerome  Reeves  sat  in  the  dining-room  and 
looked  on  while  Philip  tugged  at  his  trunk  till 
the  veins  in  his  forehead  seemed  ready  to  burst ; 
but  he  offered  no  helping  hand. 

"  Don't  bang  the  wall  with  it !  "  cried  Mrs. 
Reeves  from  above. 

Philip  strained  every  muscle,  and  at  length 
succeeded  in  reaching  the  top  of  the  stairs 
without  leaving  a  scratch  on  the  wall  on  either 
hand.  Mrs.  Reeves  seized  the  trunk  with  a 
vigorous  pull  as  it  came  within  her  reach,  and 
the  thing  was  accomplished. 

"  Why,  'tis  heavy,  I  do  declare,"  said  she. 
"  What  in  the  world  have  you  got  in  it  ?  " 

"  My  clothing  and  books,"  replied  Philip, 
wiping  his  face  and  gasping  for  breath. 


.  40  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  Well,  bring  it  along,  if  you  can  ever  get 
your  breath  again,"  she  continued  good- 
humoredly.  "  Why,  how  it  makes  you  pant, 
boy!  I  do  declare  I  don't  believe  you  are 
any  stouter  than  my  Jerome,  down  there ;  and 
his  father  says  he  ain't  worth  a  hill  of  beans. 
Well,  here's  your  quarters.  Set  your  trunk 
over  there  ;  and  now- hang  up  your  clothes  and 
get  all  fixed  up  before  Mr.  Reeves  comes  in. 
You'd  better  change  your  clothes,  and  get  all 
ready  for  work,  too,"  she  added,  glancing  at  his 
tidy  suit. 

"  These  are  my  commonest  clothes,  Mrs. 
Reeves,"  he  replied.  "  Whose  clothes  are  these 
hanging  here  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  they're  Tom's.  He's  the  hired  man, 
you  know.  He  said  you  might  have  a  share  of 
his  room." 

«  Oh,  yes,"  said  Philip. 

"  Well,  fix  up  now,  and  be  all  ready  to  go 
to  work  after  dinner.  Mr.  Reeves  don't  have 
any  lazy  folks  around  him." 


A  BOUND  BOY.  41 

She  was  gone,  and  he  was  alone  in  his  room, 
—  his  room  !  which  he  had  been  in  such  haste  to 
see,  reeking  with  stable-odors,  and  foul  with 
mud,  and  but  half  his  at  that ! 

The  room  was  over  the  kitchen.  That  part 
of  the  house  was  only  a  story  and  a  half  high. 
In  the  middle  of  the  room,  at  its  highest  point, 
he  could  reach  the  ceiling  with  his  extended 
fingers.  Then  it  sloped  to  within  about  two 
feet  of  the  floor  each  way ;  and  on  either  side 
were  two  windows,  each  of  three  panes  of  glass 
set  side  by  side.  These  windows  could  only  be 
reached  by  crawling  down  to  them  on  hands 
and  knees.  But  straight  to  them  Philip  did 
crawl,  and  opened  all  four  of  them,  to  let  in  the 
free,  sweet,  pure  air.  How  delicious  it  seemed  ! 

A.  glance  through  the  windows  was  all  he 
had  time  for  then.  First,  towards  town,  two 
miles  away,  climbing  up  the  bank  and  strag- 
gling off  into  the  swee£  rural  regions  beyond, 
lay  Chesterfield,  full  in  sight.  As  if  to  mock 


42  LINSIDE  FARM. 

and  tantalize  the  poor  boy,  the  first  spot  upon 
which  his  eye  rested  was  his  own  old  home. 
Even  at  that  distance  he  could  recognize  the 
window  that  had  been  his  window,  and  the 
balcony  upon  which  he  had  lain  so  many  sweet 
summer  evenings,  listening  to  the  swallows  that 
sailed,  twittering  with  delicious  joy,  over  his 
head ;  and  later,  as  the  sunset  faded,  and 
the  shadows  deepened,  to  the  katydids, 
and  other  sounds  of  insect-life  that  filled  the 
quivering  air.  He  could  not  bear  it.  He 
drew  hastily  back,  and  went  to  the  other  side. 
Yes :  it  looked  towards  the  babbling  brook.  He 
could  hear  it  ripple.  There  was  refreshment 
and  peace  in  that.  He  lay  on  the  floor  and 
listened.  But,  somehow,  he  could  not  see  what 
was  there.  He  could  see  only  the  town 
opposite.  He  could  see  only  that  well-re- 
membered home,  that  window,  that  balcony, 
—  his  no  longer. 

Then  he  remembered  something  he  had  once 


A  BOUND  BOY.  43 

x 

heard  his  father  read  about  people  that  'were 
"  pity  --TS  of  themselves."  "  No,  that  I  must 
not  '••«,"  he  exclaimed  vehemently.  "  My 
father  commenced  poor.  He  commenced  with 
nothing.  I  will  be  brave.  I  will  make  my 
own  fortune,  as  he  did." 

\.  mocking  tone  seemed  to  answer,  "  His 
fortune!"  Alas,  where  was  it?  Philip  reso- 
lutely excluded  the  thought.  "  If  he  could 
only  have  lived,  it  would  have  been  all  right. 
As  it  is,  I  can  do  as  he  did.  I  have  a  life  to 
live,  my  own  life,  and  nobody's  else." 

Turning  resolutely  to  business,  he  opened  his 
trunk,  and  hung  up  his  best  suit,  as  far  as 
possible  from  Tom's  unclean  clothes,  and 
then  — 

That  was  all  he  found  to  do.  There  was  no 
bureau,  no  closet.  The  sole  furniture  of  the 
room  was  its  bed,  a  stand  with  a  tin  wash-basin, 
but  no  water,  nor  any  sign  of  any  having  been 
there.  Besides,  there  was  a  single  chair  and  his 


44  LINSIDE  FARM. 

trunk.  So  he  closed  the  trunk,  and  slipped  the 
key  in  his  pocket,  and  went  down  stairs. 

"  Just  in  time,"  said  Mrs.  Reeves.  "  Bring 
me  a  pail  of  water.  Out  there  is  the  well." 

Philip  brought  the  water,  and  then  walked  to 
the  window.  Towards  Chesterfield  again  !  Ho 
turned  hastily  away,  repeating  his  wish  uttered 
to  Mr.  Glenn  that  morning,  that  he  were  ten 
miles  away,  instead  of  two. 

But  he  was  bound. 


CAPT.  R'EEVES  AND  HIS  FAMILY.         45 


CHAPTER    IV. 

CAPTAIN    REEVES    AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

'URING  all  the  time  of  Philip's 
passing  in  and  out,  Jerome  had  not 
once  raised  his  eyes  from  the  news- 
paper he  was  reading.  When  he 
did,  it  was  only  to  announce  some  event  of  the 
war  then  in  progress,  to  which  his  mother  re- 
sponded in  a  few  indifferent  words. 

Philip  had  been  looking  with  much  interest 
at  Jerome,  as  he  half  reclined  near  the  window. 
He  seemed  about  Philip's  own  age,  but  slight 
in  figure,  and  a  little  pale.  Philip  wondered 
somewhat  at  his  dress,  which  seemed  not  at  all 
adapted  to  labor,  but  rather  to  a  quiet  and 
studious  life,  such  as  Philip  had  been  accus- 
tomed to,  both  for  himself  and  among  his 


46  LINSIDE  FARM. 

associates.  He  felt  drawn  to  Jerome,  as  boy  to 
boy,  without  a  shadow  of  doubt  that  soon  they 
would  be  well  acquainted,  and  have  many 
merry  days  together  in  the  farm-life  which  had 
looked  so  attractive  to  him  from  a  distance. 

Mr.  Reeves  came  in  punctually  to  dinner  at 
twelve  o'clock.  There  was  always  a  hurry 
and  commotion  in  the  kitchen  as  twelve  o'clock 
drew  near,  especially  if,  by  any  accident  or  mis- 
calculation, dinner  was  in  any  danger  of  being 
ten  minutes  late.  This  rarely  happened.  To- 
day, as  usual,  when  the  long  black  fingers  of 
the  clock  approached  the  momentous  twelve,  the 
dishes  began  to  gather  on  the  table  ;  and  all  was 
ready,  as  he  liked  it,  when  the  captain  ap- 
peared. He  was  often  called  captain,  and 
enjoyed  it  exceedingly  ;  having  led  a  company 
of  volunteers  in  the  first  three  months'  service 
of  the  war,  from  which  he  had  returned  some 
months  previous. 

"  Ah,  you  are  here  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  his 
eye  fell  on  Philip's  face. 


CAPT.  REEVES  AND  HIS  FAMILY.         47 

Philip  looked  up  and  smiled  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  above  salutation,  and  waited  for 
whatever  the  captain  might  have  to  say  further. 
He  said  nothing  more. 

The  dinner  was  announced.  Jerome  laid 
aside  his  paper,  and  took  up  what  Philip  had 
not  before  noticed,  a  crutch,  with  an  iron  stir- 
rup on  it,  elevated  some  distance  from  the  floor, 
in  .which  he  rested  his  right  foot ;  a  stiff  bent 
knee  making  it  impossible  for  him  to  bring  it  to 
the  floor.  Here  was  the  secret  of  his  delicate 
appearance,  his  neat  apparel,  and  his  quiet 
habits. 

"  He  studies,  of  course,"  thought  Philip. 
"  How  nice  that  must  be  !  " 

Miss  Sophy  appeared  from  the  front  rooms 
of  the  house,  attired  in  a  showy  morning- 
wrapper,  which  trailed  half  a  yard  upon  the 
floor  as  she  walked. 

Her  father  managed,  as  usual,  to  set  his  broad 
foot  upon  it  once  or  twice  before  she  reached 


48  LINSIDE  FARM. 

her  chair  :  at  which  Miss  Sophy  darted  angry 
glances  at  him  over  her  shoulder,  and  he  ex- 
claimed not  less  angrily  at  the  absurdity  of 
women  for  wearing  such  trumpery. 

As  the  family  were  gathering  around  the 
table,  Philip  stood  apart,  waiting  for  an  invita- 
tion to  join  them.  He  heard  other  voices  in 
the  room  beyond,  but  gave  no  heed  to  them. 
He  observed  a  peculiar  glance  from  Miss 
Sophronia  as  she  entered  the  room,  but  still 
waited  to  be  summoned  to  the  vacant  seat 
beside  Jerome. 

"  Ma,  isn't  the  dinner  ready  out  there  ? " 
asked  the  young  lady. 

"  Oh  !  yes :  I  forgot.  Philip,  your  dinner  is 
ready  for  you  in  the  kitchen." 

He  darted  away,  but  turned  back  his  angry 
eyes,  as  a  sneering  laugh  from  Miss  Sophy  met 
his  ear.  As  he  turned,  a  vision  flashed  upon 
him.  A  little  girl  came  running  to  take  her 
place  at  the  table. 


CAPT.  REEVES  AND  HIS  FAMILY.        49 

"  Always  tardy,  Pauly,"  said  her  father  ;  but 
she  stopped  on  her  way,  and  smothered  his 
reproof  with  kisses  from  her  rosy  mouth. 
Philip  could  not  but  stand  an  instant  and  gaze 
at  the  round  arms  flung  around  the  neck  of 
Capt.  Reeves,  the  rosy  cheek  pressed  to  his, 
and  the  bright  eyes,  so  full,  so  brimming  over, 
and  sparkling  with  frolic,  that  no  one  ever 
noticed  whether  they  were  black  or  blue  or 
gray. 

Capt.  Reeves  himself  seemed  transfigured,  as 
he  felt  upon  his  face  and  neck  the  caressing 
arms  and  dimpled  cheeks  of  his  darling,  the 
blossom  laid  so  late  in  life  upon  his  seared  and 
dry  heart.  But  for  Philip  it  was  only  a  "mo- 
mentary glance. 

Miss  Sophy's  voice  called  out,  "  Go  to  your 
seat,  Pauline :  Philip,  shut  the  door ; "  and  he 
turned  from  the  "  stray  babe  of  Paradise,"  to 
the  great  farm-house  kitchen,  that  lay  on  the 
other  side  of  the  door. 
4 


50  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  That  boy  thinks  he  is  a  gentleman,"  said 
Miss  Sophy.  "  I  never  saw  the  like." 

"  A  gentleman  !  "  answered  the  captain  sneer- 
ingly.  "  What  is  a  gentleman,  Sophy  ?  I'd 
just  like  to  know  what  a  gentleman  is." 

"Let  the  boy  alone,  Sophy.  He'll  learn  soon 
enough  what  he  has  got  to  be  here,"  said  the 
mother  compassionately.  "  What  if  it  was 
Jerome  here,  your  brother,  turned  out  of  house 
and  home,  and  with  nobody  to  see  to  him,  poor 
fellow?" 

The  mother's  eye  grew  moist  as  she  looked 
at  her  helpless  boy,  older  by  two  years  than 
Philip,  though  quite  as  boyish  looking.  But 
the  captain  darted  a  sharp  glance  at  the  poor 
cripple,  in  whom  he  had  been  so  bitterly  disap- 
pointed. Jerome  did  not  lift  his  eyes  to  meet 
that  glance :  he  had  seen  it  too  often. 

The  next  moment  they  were  all  absorbed  in 
the  important  business  of  helping  and  being 
helped ;  little  Pauline's  plate  receiving  all  the 
choicest  tid-bits  within  her  father's  reach. 


CAP?:  REEVES  AND  HIS  FAMILY.         51 

"  There  is  a  call  for  more  troops,  father," 
said  Jerome. 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  go  ?  "  answered  the 
captain  fiercely,  seizing  this  as  he  did  every 
opportunity  to  fling  his  son's  helplessness  into 
his  face. 

"  Oh,  if  I  only  could  !  "  exclaimed  Jerome 
fervently.  "  I  wouldn't  stay  to  finish  my 
dinner." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  I  remember  you  did  your  fight- 
ing when  you  were  a  boy;"  referring  to  the 
boyish  burst  of  passion  that  led  to  a  scuffle 
with  a  playmate,  and  ended  in  Jerome's  being 
brought  into  the  house  with  the  injured  knee 
that  had  crippled  him  for  life. 

"  My  boy,"  said  his  mother  fondly,  "  I  could 
almost  be  glad  now  that  you  are  disabled." 

"  'Tis  as  it  is,"  said  Jerome  bitterly. 

"  Papa,  are  you  going  to  war  again  ?  "  asked 
little  Pauline,  lifting  her  dilated  eyes  to  her 
father's  face. 


52  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  No,  pet :  papa  can't  go.  He  must  stay  at 
home  and  raise  something  for  his  little  Pauly 
to  eat." 

"  We  could  eat  apples;  and  they  grow  with- 
out raising.  Couldn't  we,  mamma  ?  " 

Pauly's  remark  caused  a  laugh,  and  the  sub- 
ject of  the  war  was  dismissed. 

Philip,  meanwhile,  had  seated  himself  at  the 
kitchen-table,  in  company  with  Tom  and  Kate 
the  cook.  These  two  engrossed  the  conversa- 
tion ;  and  Philip  was  left  with  nothing  to  do  but 
to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  hunger,  which, 
naturally  enough,  under  the  circumstances, 
were  not  ravenous. 

The  three  pushed  back  their  chairs  from  the 
table  long  before  the  dinner  in  the  dining-room 
was  finished.  Sophronia  had  of  late  years 
introduced,  little  by  little,  into  the  management 
of  family  affairs  all  she  had  been  able  to 
gather  up  of  the  customs  of  fashionable  society, 
overcoming  gradually,  by  sheer  force  of  will, 


CAPT.  REEVES  AND  HIS  FAMILY.         53 

the  preferences  of  her  father  and  mother  for 
homely  ways.  She  had  not  yet  carried  the 
point  of  having  their  one  handmaid  called  from 
her  dinner  to  clear  the  table  for  dessert.  Her 
mother  had  thus  far  maintained  her  own  rule 
in  this  matter  ;  and  Kate  was  allowed  to  eat 
her  dinner  in  peace  at  the  same  hour  with  the 
family,  though,  as  we  have  seen,  in  a  room 
apart.  At  present,  Sophronia  was  obliged  to 
content  herself  with  removing  the  plates  and 
distributing  the  dessert  herself;  but  she  was 
not  without  hope  of  further  reforms. 

While  she  was  thus  engaged,  the  family 
heard  the  chairs  sliding  back  on  the  bare 
kitchen-floor ;  and  Capt.  Reeves  called  out, 
"Pauly,  tell  the  boy  to  come  here." 

"  What  boy,  papa  ?  what  shall  I  call  him  ?  " 
"What's   his    name,   mother?"    asked   the 
captain.     "  I  suppose  you've  found  out." 
"  Philip,  Pauly  :  call  him  Philip." 
"I  think  Phil  is   quite  enough,"  remarked 
Miss  Sophy. 


54  LINSIDE    FA-RM. 

Meanwhile  Pauly  opened  the  kitchen-door, 
and  called,  "  Philip,  papa  wants  you." 

There  she  stood,  —  that  vision  again,  that  one 
hint  of  heaven,  in  the  midst  of  so  much  earth- 
liness.  Philip  stooped,  —  he  could  not  do  other- 
wise, —  and  kissed  Pauly's  rosy  cheek ;  and 
Pauly  threw  her  arms  around  Philip's  neck, 
and  kissed  him.  Sophronia  darted  angry  glances 
at  him ;  but  the  unsophisticated  boy  did  not 
see  them,  nor  feel  them  burning  into  his  very 
heart,  as  he  learned  to  do  afterwards. 

The  next  moment  he  stood  waiting  to  receive 
his  master's  orders. 

"  This  afternoon,"  said  the  captain,  "I  want 
you  to  dig  potatoes.  There's  five  acres  of  them 
to  be  got  in  ready  for  market ;  and  you'll  just 
keep  at  them  till  they're  all  in." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Philip. 

"  And  do  you  understand,  now,  I  want  you 
to  be  smart.  It's  a  boy  I  want,  you  see,  —  a  boy 
for  work.  Here's  Jerome  ought  to  be  doing 


CAPT.  REEVES  AND  HIS  FAMILY.        55 

just  that  sort  of  thing ;  but  you  see  he's  no 
account."  And  the  angry  flash  fell  again  on 
his  only  son.  "  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his 
children,"  says  the  Scripture,  "  so  the  Lord 
pitieth  them  that  fear  him."  But  surely  it 
was  not  that  father  that  was  taken  as  a  model. 

"  But,  look  here,  boy :  you're  not  dressed  for 
work.  Go  take  off  your  Sunday  clothes,  and 
get  ready  for  business  ;  and  be  quick  too,"  he 
added  in  a  sharp,  business-like  way,  though 
not  cross. 

"  These  are  my  oldest  clothes,"  replied 
Philip.  "  I  intended  this  for  a  working-suit." 

"  Mother,"  said  the  captain,  "  haven't  you 
got  an  old  suit  of  Jerome's  to  put  the  boy  in  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  can  find  one." 

"  Well,  get  them,  quick.  We've  got  to  sit 
here  a  while  longer,  I  suppose,  to  suit  Sophy's 
notions ;  but  work  must  go  on." 

"  Capt.  Reeves,"  said  Philip,  "I  would  so 
much  rather  wear  my  own  clothes,  if  you 


56  LINSIDE  FARM. 

please.  This  is  a  good  stout  suit,  and  will 
stand  work  pretty  well." 

"  Look  here,  boy,"  said  the  -captain :  "  it's 
pretty  clear  there  are  some  things  you  don't 
understand.  Your  clothes  are  my  clothes 
now ;  and  I  choose  they  shall  be  taken 
care  of.  So,  if  you  please,  young  man," 
he  added  with  emphasis,  "  or  if  you  don't  please, 
just  take  that  suit  and  put  it  on,  and  be  quick." 

Philip  took  the  clothes  Mrs.  Reeves  had 
brought,  and  disappeared  up  the  narrow  back- 
stairs to  his  room.  Just  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs  there  burst  upon  him  again  that  full  view 
of  Chesterfield  ;  and  somehow,  as  it  always 
would  happen,  his  eye  rested  on  that  familiar 
home,  that  particular  window,  that  balcony. 
For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  the  sight  struck 
him  with  a  blow  under  which  he  must  stagger ; 
but  the  next  moment  he  seemed  to  hear  his 
father's  voice  saying,  "  My  son,  you  have  a  life 
to  live.  Live  honorably."  With  an  audible 


CAPT.  REEVES  AND  HIS  FAMILY.         57 

voice  Philip  again  answered,  "  I  will,  father  ;  I 
will." 

He  sprang  into  his  room,  and  quickly 
changed  his  garments,  not  stopping  to  look  at 
the  patched  knees,  and  the  jacket  out  at  the 
elbows,  and  not  knowing  that  another  "  boy  " 
had  worn  them  since  Jerome.  He  passed  his 
hand  once  through  the  clustering  brown  curls 
(there  was  no  other  hand  to  stray  among  them 
now),  and  re-appeared  in  the  dining-room  in 
his  unwonted  attire. 

"  Now  you  look  like  business,"  said  the 
captain,  scanning  him  from  head  to  foot,  and 
at  last  looking  up  into  his  flushed  face.  Philip 
met  his  look  with  a  calm,  steady  eye,  though  he 
could  not  drive  away  the  two  bright  spots  that 
burned  in  his  cheeks.  "  Tom  will  show  you  ;' " 
and  the  captain  motioned  him  away. 

Pauly  sprang  from  her  seat  at  the  table,  and 
intercepted  him  before  he  reached  the  door  ;  and, 
lifting  once  more  her  plump  face  and  beaming 


58  LINS7DE  FARM. 

eyes,  said, u  Never  mind  the  old  clothes,  Philip  : 
I  like  you  just  as  well ;  "  and  darted  back  before 
Sophronia  could  interpose  a  word  or  a  look. 

"  That  boy  isn't  used  to  hard  work.  Be  easy 
with  him  at  first,  won't  you,  father  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Reeves. 

He  laughed :  a  laugh  that  simply  shook  his 
ample  sides,  but  brought  no  kindly  expression 
to  his  face.  "  That  will  do  for  you  to  say, 
mother :  that'll  do  for  you.  But  the  only  way 
to  break  such  a  boy  is  to  chuck  him  right  in." 

"  Papa,  are  you  going  to  break  Philip  ?  " 
asked  Pauly. 

"  I  won't  hurt  him,  Pauly.  I'm  only  going 
to  break  him  to  work,  as  we  do  horses  when 
they  get  big  enough." 

*'  I  wish  nobody  didn't  have  to  work  hard," 
said  Pauly  sorrowfully.  "  Not  boys,  nor  horses, 
nor  nothing." 

"  But  they  do  have  to,  Pauly." 

"  You'll  let  him  play  sometimes,  won't  you, 
papa  ?  " 


CAPT.  REEVES  AND  HIS  FAMILY.       59 

"  Play,  Pauly !  That's  your  business,  not 
his.  Sophy,  give  me  another  of  those  peaches : 
they're  splendid.  Here,  Pauly  ;  "  and  he  tossed 
her  one  of  the  rosiest  and  finest.  Pauly  took 
it  up,  looked  at  it  for  a  moment,  and  slyly 
slipped  it  into  her  pocket. 

"  Going  to  save  it  to  eat  by  and  by  ?  " 

"  No  :  I  am  going  to  give  it  to  Philip.  You 
didn't  give  him  any." 

Pauline  had  her  way,  as  she  always  did. 

Philip,  meanwhile,  had  followed  Tom  to  the 
five-acre  field  of  potatoes,  with  his  hoe  on  his 
shoulder.  Tom  went  far  enough  to  show  him 
the  field,  and  then  left  him. 

Philip  went  on,  leaped  over  the  fence,  and 
stopped  to  survey  the  scene  of  operations. 
The  field  lay  alongside  the  brook  that  leaped 
from  rock  to  rock,  making  tinkling  music  all 
along  its  way  to  join  Rock  River,  five  miles 
below.  Just  here  it  was  broad  and  shallow  ; 
and  Philip  thought  what  glorious  fun  it  would 


60  LINSIDE  FARM. 

be  to  spring  down  its  rocky  banks,  and  leap 
from  stone  to  stone  lying  up  bare  from  arnid  its 
noisy,  dancing  waters,  and  stand,  in  the  joy  of 
boyish  strength  and  courage,  on  the  very  top  of 
a  rock  that  some  rods  away  received  and 
dashed  off  to  either  side  the  stream  that  leaped 
from  above,  and  plunged  down  into  deep,  still 
pools  below.  A  dash  of  the  spray  would  have 
refreshed  him  so  !  The  brown  woods  across  the 
brook  he  knew  were  full  of  trees  loaded  with 
nuts.  He  had  roamed  through  them  often  ;  and 
now  he  could  hear  the  shouts  of  boys,  some 
near,  some  faint  and  far  away.  He  well  knew 
what  sport  they  were  having.  Over  all  — 
woods,  water,  and  plain  —  lay  the  October  haze, 
softening  the  golden  sunlight  that  fell  alike  on 
the  dancing  brook  and  on  the  unpoetic  potato- 
field. 

But  his  business  now  was  not  with  the 
October  haze,  nor  the  glancing  water,  nor  the 
sweet  sunshine,  nor  the  great  trees,  that,  beyond 


CAPT.  REEVES  AND  HIS  FAMILY.         61 

the  brook,  loomed  up  in  the  misty  air ;  save  as 
these  all  gathered  around  him,  with  their  silent 
witness  of  the  goodness  and  the  glory  of  God, 
ready  to  feed  his  soul  with  angel's  food,  though 
his  hands  must  be  busy,  and  his  muscles  ache 
with  unaccustomed  labor. 

He  turned  from  the  brook ;  and  there,  climb- 
ing up  the  river-bank,  always  in  sight  wherever 
he  went,  lay  Chesterfield.  It  reminded  him  of 
something  his  mother  had  once  read  to  him, 
about  being  compassed  about  with  a  great  cloud 
of  witnesses.  It  seemed  as  if  his  old  haunts, 
his  friends,  his  companions,  his  former  life,  yes, 
and  the  three  graves  beyond  the  city,  among 
the  silent  hills,  each  sent  its  keen-eyed  ghost  to 
watch  him  from  those  shining  heights.  The 
cloud  of  witnesses  that  really  did  look  down 
upon  him,  —  youthful  runner  in  a  race  upon 
which  hung  such  momentous  issues,  —  he  did 
not  think  of  at  all.  Yet  they  were  watching 
him. 


62  LINSIDE  FARM. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  a  light 
step  tripped  near  him,  a  bright  glance  and  a 
merry  laugh  ;  and  little  Pauly  laid  her  ripe 
peach  in  his  dusty  hand. 

It  was  hard  to  tell  which  gave  him  most 
refreshment,  —  the  luscious,  juicy  peach,  or  the 
sparkle  of  the  merry  eyes  that  looked  up  to  his. 
However  that  might  be,  he  certainly  was 
refreshed,  and  went  on  with  his  work  till  night 
with  renewed  vigor. 


riFE  IN  THE   WOODS.  63 


CHAPTER    V. 

LIFE   IN    THE   WOODS. 

FT  length  the  potatoes  were  all  stored 
away  to  wait  for  spring  prices ;  the 
corn  was  gathered  into  the  crib;  the 
fall  ploughing  was  done,  and  wheat 
sown,  and  stacks  of  hay  and  fodder  that  had 
been  accumulating  during  the  summer  and  fall 
stood  ready  for  winter  use ;  barns  and  cattle- 
sheds  were  overlooked  and  put  in  complete 
order  for  the  sheltering  of  stock  during  the 
winter :  for  Capt.  Reeves  was  a  good  fanner, 
and  looked  well  both  to  the  crops  and  the  stock 
on  his  premises.  They  were  all  money  in  his 
pocket. 

Philip   had   never  yet   come  to    the    point 
which  he  had  announced  to  Mr.  Glenn  as  the 


«-f  LINSIDE  FARM. 

first  thing  he  should  undertake.  The  unsightly 
feeding-troughs  and  heaps  of  refuse  still  lay  in 
the  road  ;  while  more  nearly  in  front  of  the 
house  was  the  common  gathering-place  of  the 
cows  for  milking  and  feeding.  Philip  had  soon 
learned  that  he  was  not  expected  to  make  sug- 
gestions. 

He  saw  little  of  Jerome.  Not  a  step  of 
progress  could  he  make  in  cultivating  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  crippled  boy.  He  was  almost 
always  in  the  same  seat,  on  a  lounge  by  the 
dining-room  window,  while  his  mother  bustled 
about,  busy  with  her  household  cares,  and  Pauly 
danced  hither  and  thither  like  a  stray  sunbeam, 
bringing  light  and  gladness  wherever  she  came. 
Sometimes  she  stood  by  Jerome  as  he  read  the 
daily  paper  or  pursued  his  studies,  her  fingers 
wandering  over  his  hair  or  stroking  his  cheek. 
The  pale,  listless  face  always  settled  into  perfect 
rest  when  she  was  by,  and  sometimes  was  even 
lighted  up  with  a  gleam  of  pleasure.  Then 


LIFE  IN  THE    WOODS.  65 

Pauly  was  by  her  mother,  and  her  cares  seemed 
lighter,  and  her  vexations  more  endurable. 
Then  she  would  vanish  into  those  mysterious 
regions  towards  the  front  of  the  house,  which, 
for  all  Philip  knew  of  them,  might  be  fairy- 
land. He  only  knew  that  Miss  Sophy  was 
always  summoned  thence  when  meals  were 
ready,  and  disappeared  again  in  that  direction 
when  they  were  over ;  and,  once  or  twice,  the 
sound  of  sC  piano  had  penetrated  even  as  far  as 
the  farm-kitchen,  and  sometimes  had  stolen  up 
to  his  forlorn  bedroom  as  he  was  dropping  off 
to  sleep,  seeming  to  him  like  echoes  from  an 
almost  forgotten  past. 

Philip  began  to  feel  at  length  that  they  were 
about  ready  for  a  quiet  winter,  and  he  won- 
dered when  the  captain  would  speak  of  his 
going  to  school.  He  knew  it  was  part  of  the 
agreement  entered  into  on  his  behalf  that  he 
should  have  a  certain  amount  of  schooling:  how 
much  he  did  not  know  ;  but  he  had  settled  it  in 


66  LINSIDZ  FARM. 


his  own  mind  that  it  would  certainly  be  as  much 
as  three  months  every  winter. 

One  evening,  near  the  close  of  November,  as 
he,  with  Tom  and  Kate,  sat  around  the  groat 
kitchen-stove,  the  captain  suddenly  appeared 
among  them.  His  errand  was  with  Tom  ;  and 
he  took  no  more  notice  of  Philip  and  Kate  than 
if  they  had  been  blocks  of  stone. 

Walking  straight  to  Tom,  he  laid  down 
thirty  dollars  on  the  table  before  him,  saying, 
"  Here's  the  balance  of  what  I  owe  yon,  Tom. 
I  suppose  you  are  going  in  the  morning." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Tom  ;  and  the  captain 
left. 

"  Are  you  going  away,  Tom  ?  "  asked 
Philip. 

"  Yes.  The  captain  can't  afford  to  keep 
me  any  longer."  And  Tom  laughed  sneer- 
ingly.  "  I'm  glad  I  ain't  as  poor  as  Capt. 
Reeves,"  he  added.  "  He's  going  to  grind  my 
work  out  of  you  now,  Phil." 


LIFE  IN  THE    WOODS.  67 

Philip  made  no  reply,  but  dropped  his  eyes 
on  an  algebra  he  was  trying  to  study.  The 
subject  was  not  resumed.  He  continued  poring 
over  his  algebra  and  slate,  doinji  the  best  he 

O  O 

could  amidst  the  incessant  clatter  of  tongues 
kept  up  by  Tom  and  Kate.  He  knew  Jerome 
was  quietly  reading  history  in  the  next  room. 
How  he  envied  the  privileged  boy  !  He  would 
almost  have  been  content,  he  fancied,  to  become 
crippled  like  him,  if  that  would  have  brought 
him  the  same  advantages.  From  the  parlor 
beyond  came  sounds  of  Sophronia's  piano,  and 
singing  and  laughter.  She  had  company  :  slut 
almost  always  did  in  the  evening.  Philip's 
thoughts  for  a  while  wandered  sadly  from  the 
book  on  which  his  eyes  persistently  rested  ;  and 
when  Tom  at  length  took  up  the  candle  and 
said,  "  Come,  Phil,  let's  go  to  bed,"  he  gath- 
ered up  his  book  and  slate  with  the  feeling  that 
there  was  very  little  use  in  his  trying  to  study 
any  more :  he  might  as  well  give  it  up. 


68  LINSIDE  FARM. 

As  they  passed  through  the  dining-room, 
Jerome  raised  his  languid  eyes  from  his  book, 
and  looked  enviously  at  Philip's  boyish  figure 
and  elastic  step.  Could  the  two  boys  have 
looked  into  each  other's  minds,  they  would 
have  been  mutually  astonished.  Both,  perhaps, 
would  have  had  the  thought  flashed  upon  them, 
that  God  distributes  his  gifts  more  equally  than 
his  murmuring  creatures  sometimes  think  ;  so 
that  while  no  one  has  all  things,  every  one  has 
many  things  for  which  to  give  thanks. 

Philip  was  somewhat  wakeful,  wondering 
how  the  change  of  affairs  would  be  likely  to 
affect  him.  Sometimes  he  thought  Tom's 
work  would  all  come  on  his  shoulders ;  and 
that  hereafter  he  might  expect  to  feed  the  stock 
entirely,  as  he  had  already  been  in  the  habit  of 
doing  in  part.  But  again  he  remembered  the 
captain's  remarkable  care  of  every  living  thing 
on  the  place,  and  how  he  had  never  trusted 
even  Tom,  without  a  constant  oversight  of  his 


LIFE  IN  THE    WOODS.  69 

own.  He  was  not  only  careful,  but  absolutely 
notional. 

At  length,  Philip  settled  quietly  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Tom  had  been  dismissed  for  the 
reason  that  work  was  pretty  much  wound  up 
for  the  season,  and  that  he  should  certainly  be 
sent  to  school.  With  that  conclusion  he  fell 
asleep,  dreaming  of  daily  walks  to  and  from 
Chesterfield,  and  of  happy  hours  awaiting  him 
in  the  old  familiar  schoolrooms. 

When  he  awoke  the  next  morning,  Tom  was 
already  gone  ;  and  the  empty  pegs  on  the  wall 
where  his  clothing  had  hung  showed  that  his 
departure  was  final.  Tom  had  risen  early,  and 
was  at  that  moment  half  way  to  town  ;  de- 
termined, if  he  could  avoid  it,  not  to  lose  so 
much  as  a  day's  work  in  his  change  of  employ- 
ments. 

As  Philip  passed  through  the  dining-room, 
the  captain  spoke  to  him. 

"  Sir,"  said  Philip. 


70  LINSIDE   FARM. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  woods  with  me  to- 
day." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Get  the  team  ready.  We  shall  start  right 
after  breakfast." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

u  Tell  Kate  to  put  up  your  dinner  to  take 
along." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Philip  passed  on.  He  would  have  been 
unwilling  to  acknowledge  the  bitter  pang  of 
disappointment  that  shot  through  him.  He 
had  wrought  up  his  expectations  to  a  pitch  of 
absolute  certainty  that  the  next  order  he 
should  hear  from  the  captain  would  be  to  go  to 
school.  If  that  privilege,  or  rather  right,  were 
given  him,  Philip  felt  that  he  could  live  through 
the  monotonous  round  of  his  farm-life,  and 
scarcely  feel  its  dreariness. 

After  breakfast,  they  went  to  the  woods. 
The  captain  threw  on  the  wagon  two  axes,  a 


LIFE  IN  THE    WOODS.  71 

beetle  and  wedge,  and  then  sprang  on,  taking 
the  lines  out  of  Philip's  hands,  and  driving 
himself,  because  he  loved  to. 

A  light  snow  had  fallen  during  the  night, 
but  the  sun  had  come  out  gloriously  in  the 
morning.  They  were  silent  during  the  ride ; 
the  intercourse  between  master  and  boy  being 
usually  limited  to  giving  and  receiving  orders. 
So  Philip  was  at  liberty  to  revel  in  the  beauty 
of  the  newly-fallen  snow  as  it  lay  so  soft  and 
light  on  field  and  hill,  clinging  to  the  dry  and 
withered  foliage  of  the  trees,  and  everywhere 
sending  back  the  clear  rays  of  the  morning 
sun  in  dazzling  brightness. 

Across  the  brook,  about  a  mile  away  from 
Linside  farmhouse,  lay  the  wood-lot  to  which 
their  course  was  directed.  Chesterfield  was 
behind  them  ;  but,  as  if  by  some  secret  fascina- 
tion, Philip's  eyes,  as  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
wagon-rack,  clung  to  the  climbing  streets  and 
happy  homes  of  the  town  on  the  hill  that  rose 


72  LINSIDE  FARM. 

from  the  farther  side  of  Rock  River.  Under 
the  beams  of  the  morning  sun,  and  the  dazzling 
glitter  of  the  newly-fallen  snow  resting  on  the 
roofs,  and  clinging  to  every  projecting  window- 
cap  and  moulding,  decorating  with  fairy-like 
tracery  every  steeple  and  cupola,  the  city  might 
have  stood,  to  his  boyish  fancy,  as  an  emblem 
of  the  Celestial  City  to  which  Christian  went 
up  from  the  farther  shores  of  Jordan. 

But  it  was  not  the  beauty  alone  of  the  shin- 
ing prospect  that  caught  the  eye  of  the  boy ; 
nor  even  his  own  home,  standing  there  in  full 
view,  upon  which  his  eye  always  rested  first 
when  turned  in  that  direction.  He  had  had 
that  first  glance  homeward,  with  the  heart- 
pang  that  always  accompanied  it ;  and  then  he 
had  feasted  on  the  beauty  of  the  scene :  and 
after  that,  as  long  as  they  were  within  sight,  his 
eye  clung  to  the  various  school-edifices  dotting 
the  city  here  and  there,  with  the  High  School 
overlooking  the  whole  from  the  highest  point 


LIFE  IN  THE    WOODS.  73 

of  ground.  To  its  inviting  portals  lie  had  many 
times  looked  up  while  his  home  was  within  a 
stone's  throw  of  it,  never  doubting  that  he 
should  pass  through  its  various  departments  till 
fitted  for  college.  But  now,  free  to  all  as  its 
privileges  were,  and  belonging  to  him  as  a 
birthright,  they  seemed  as  far  off  and  as  unat- 
tainable as  a  castle  in  the  clouds. 

As  for  Capt.  Reeves,  all  this  was  behind  his 
back.  Even  the  pure  snow,  in  which  his  horses' 
hoofs  and  the  wheels  of  his  wagon  were  mak- 
ing the  first  impression,  was  nothing  to  him. 
He  was  absorbed  in  the  careful  driving  of  his 
great  handsome  bays,  his  own  especial  pride 
and  pleasure.  Philip  need  not  have  been 
troubled  about  the  care  of  the  horses  and  stock 
coming  upon  him  after  Tom's  departure.  Ho 
would  not  have  thought  of  any  such  thing  if 
he  had  known  the  captain  better.  Capt. 
Reeves  was  no  amateur  farmer :  not  he ! 

By  and  by  they  turned  into  a  woods-road,  in 


74  LINSIDE  FARM. 

which  they  were  obliged  to  keep 'dodging  the 
branches  that  interlaced  above  them,  and  which 
every  now  and  then  showered  down  the  feath- 
ery snow  upon  them. 

"  Confound  the  snow  !  "  said  the  captain. 

It  was  the  first  word  he  had  spoken  since 
they  started,  and  it  was  also  the  last  until  they 
reached  a  small  clearing  in  the  woods. 

The  captain  sprang  to  the  ground,  and 
directed  Philip  to  take  the  implements  of  work, 
while  he  carefully  tied  and  blanketed  his 
horses. 

He  then  walked  around  the  little  clearing, 
looking  here  and  there  before  deciding  where 
to  begin.  At  last  he  fixed  upon  a  tree  to  be 
first  felled,  and  ordered  the  tools  to  be  laid  at 
its  foot. 

If  Philip  had  been  a  little  more  familiar  with 
Scripture,  the  action  might  have  suggested  to 
him  the  words  of  John  the  Baptist  in  the  wil- 
derness :  "  And  now  also  the  axe  is  laid  unto 


LIFE  IN  THE   WOODS.  75 

the  root  of  the  trees ;  therefore  every  tree 
which  bringeth  not  forth  good  fruit  is  hewn 
down  and  cast  into  the  fire."  But  no  sucli 
thought  came  to  the  boy's  mind.  He  was 
simply  absorbed  in  the  preparation  for  work  to 
him  so  novel. 

At  length  the  captain  spoke.  "  Here  is 
your  winter's  work,  Philip,  here  in  this  wood- 
lot." 

How  loud  the  captain's  voice  sounded  in  the 
stillness  of  the  lonely  forest '  It  seemed  to 
Philip  as  if  every  tree  repeated  the  sentence, 
"  Here's  your  winter's  work,  Philip." 

He  simply  responded,  "  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  cut  on  that  side,  while  I  cut  on  this  ; 
and  look  out  the  tree  don't  fall  on  you." 

With  the  eye  of  a  practised  woodsman,  he 
had  carefully  calculated  the  direction  in  which 
the  tree  was  likely  to  fall  ;  and  his  remark  had 
no  further  meaning  than  that  he  delighted  to 
play  upon  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  the 
greenness  of  a  raw  hand  at  the  business. 


76  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Soon  the  vigorous  strokes  of  their  axes 
resounded  through  the  woods,  and  by  and  by 
the  tree  began  to  settle  slowly  over  towards 
Capt.  Reeves,  as  he  knew  it  would ;  and 
presently,  with  a  tremendous  crash,  the  splendid 
product  of  a  century's  growth  fell  prostrate. 

"  What  a  pity  !  "  said  Philip  involuntarily,  as 
he  glanced  along  its  shapely  trunk  and  spread- 
ing limbs,  lying  a  mass  of  ruins. 

"  No  dawdling !"  exclaimed  the  captain  con- 
temptuously ;  and  Philip  was  again  left  to 
his  own  reflections. 

Again  the  prostrate  tree  might  have  sug- 
gested to  him,  "  If  the  tree  falleth  toward  the 
south  or  toward  the  north,  in  the  place  where 
the  tree  falleth  there  it  shall  be ; "  with  its 
accompanying  lesson  respecting  the  end  of 
human  probation,  and  the  eternal  fixedness  of 
all  beyond.  But  he  did  not  think  of  it. 

At  length,  in  a  pause  of  their  work,  he  could 
no  longer  refrain  from  asking  the  question,  that, 


LIFE  IN  THE    WOODS.  77 

all  the  morning*  had  been  revolving  in  his 
mind. 

"  Capt.  Reeves,"  said  he,  "  am  I  going  to 
school  this  winter  ?  " 

"  To  school,  boy  !  What  put  that  into  your 
head  ?  " 

"  I  thought  —  why,  I  thought,  sir,  it  was  part 
of  the  agreement,"  stammered  Philip. 

He  could  not  have  said  a  worse  thing. 

The  captain  replied,  "  You  mind  your  part 
of  the  agreement,  and  I'll  mind  mine  ;  and,  look 
here,  young  man,  you  needn't  trouble  yourself 
to  tell  me  about  my  part." 

The  ringing  axes  were  busy  again,  lopping 
off  the  branches,  preparatory  to  coming  at  the 
straight  body-wood.  There  was  no  further 
talking,  except  now  and  then  a  direction  from, 
the  master,  or  a  question  from  the  boy.  Not- 
withstanding the  disappointment  he  had  met, 
Philip  could  not  be  greatly  depressed  in  the 
midst  of  such  vigorous  exercise  in  the  crisp, 


78  LINSIDE  FARM. 

bracing  November  air.  His -spirits  gradually 
rose ;  and,  but  for  the  presence  of  the  captain, 
he  would  have  been  whistling  and  shouting 
over  his  work.  That  presence  always  rested 
upon  him  like  a  heavy  weight. 

By  and  by,  the  sun  rose  high  in  the  heavens  ; 
and  the  captain,  carefully  noting  that  its 
direction  indicated  the  approach  of  noon,  pre- 
pared for  departure. 

"  I've  come  out  and  worked  with  you  this 
morning,"  he  said,  "  to  get  you  started  :  .low  I 
expect  you  to  go  on  yourself.  Here' ,  your 
winter's  work,  as  I  told  you,  —  chopping  and 
cording  up  wood  ;  and,  mind  you,  the  faster  the 
piles  grow,  the  better  I  shall  like  it." 

Philip  knew  that  very  well ;  and  he  responded 
with  the  customary  "  Yes,  sir." 

"  Now  I  shall  go  home,"  continued  the 
captain.  "  You  can  eat  your  dinner,  ar,  i  then 
work  on  till  night.  And  bring  your  a 
every  night,  mind." 


LIFE  IN  THE    WOOJJS.  79 

The  captain  took  his  axe  on  his  shoulder, 
and  went  to  the  other  side  of  the  clearing, 
where  he  had  left  his  horses.  Philip  felt 
relieved ;  and,  as  soon  as  he  was  fairly  out  of 
sight,  he  sat  down  on  his  log  to  eat  his  dinner. 
The  silence  of  the  woods  was  unbroken,  save 
now  and  then  by  the  chirp  of  a  late-lingering 
bird.  There  was  too  much  novelty  in  his 
situation  to  be  quite  dreary,  and  his  morning's 
work  had  given  him  a  fine  appetite. 

The  activities  of  Nature  seemed  all  sus- 
pended. The  shrill  cry  of  a  blue-jay,  or  the 
noisy  clamor  of  a  flock  of  wild  geese  that  flew 
over  his  head,  just  starting  from  their  summer 
haunts  in  some  watery  nook  to  seek  a  sunnier 
clime,  were  the  only  sounds  that  broke  the 
silence  while  he  ate  his  solitary  meal.  After 
his  nooning,  he  took  up  his  axe  and  went 
cheerily  to  work  again,  glad  to  hear  the  sound 
of  his  own  labor.  As  he  recollected  the 
captain's  remark,  "  Here's  your  winter's  work, 


80  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Philip,"  he  wished  it  were  a  little  less  monoto- 
nous ;  but  he  had  no  choice  in  the  matter.  As 
the  sun  lowered  in  the  west,  he  shouldered  his 
axe  and  plodded  wearily  homeward.  His 
supper  was  awaiting  him  in  the  kitchen.  That 
over,  he  passed  through  the  dining-roorn  to 
bring  his  book  from  up  stairs,  to  study,  as 
lie  usually  did  at  night.  Jerome  was  there. 
He  nearly  always  was.  He  lifted  a  wistful  gaze 
to  Philip's  face  as  he  passed  through,  but  said 
nothing.  Philip  looked  at  him  half  enviously, 
and  passed  on. 

It  soon  became  an  old  story  with  Philip  to 
take  up  his  implements  and  his  dinner-pail,  and 
set  off  on  his  morning  walk  to  the  woods.  But 
the  solitude  of  the  employment  made  it  exceed- 
ingly irksome.  He  could  hear  around  him  the 
strokes  of  other  men  and  boys,  similarly  em- 
ployed, but  not  one  in  sight.  He  could,  in  a 
measure,  keep  trace  of  their  work  by  the  occa- 
sional crash  of  a  falling  tree,  or  the  burning  of 


LIFE  IN  THE   WOODS.  81 

their  heaps  of  brush  ;  but  not  an  articulate  sound 
ever  met  his  ear,  though  sometimes  a  faint  shout 
came  borne  on  the  still  air,  as,  all  day  long,  and 
every  day,  he  worked  at  his  allotted  task. 

The  captain  occasionally  looked  in  upon  the 
clearing,  to  see  how  matters  progressed.  One 
day,  about  midwinter,  he  spent  some  hours  at 
work  with  Philip.  As  he  was  leaving  at  noon, 
he  said,  "  It  seems  to  me,  Philip,  your  pile  grows 
very  slowly.  I  thought  may  be  you  didn't 
know  how  to  work  ;  and  so  I  have  been  working 
with  you  to  show  you  how,  and  to  see  how  you 
manage :  and  I  don't  see  but  you  get  along  well 
enough  when  I  am  by." 

Philip  looked  up  astonished  ;  for  his  father's 
maxim  had  been  always  before  him,  and  he  had 
specially  prided  himself  upon  his  faithfulness 
and  diligence. 

But  the  captain  looked  dissatisfied,  and  Philip 
began  to  wonder  within  himself  whether  he 
should  ever  be  able  to  satisfy  him. 

6 


82  LINSIDE  FARM. 

After  that  day,  the  captain  was  more  fre- 
quently on  the  ground.  His  visits  were  galling 
to  Philip,  for  they  made  him  feel  that  he  was 
under  suspicion  of  being  unfaithful  in  his  labor. 
One  day,  Philip  noticed  Capt.  Reeves  care- 
fully taking  the  measure  of  the  pile  of  wood  as 
it  lay,  and  noting  the  results  in  his  memo- 
randum book.  The  next  day  he  did  the  same, 
and  the  next  the  same. 

After  the  third  measurement,  he  suddenly 
called  out,  "  Philip  !  come  here,  young  man." 

Philip  came  to  where  he  stood,  and  saw  at 
once  that  he  was  terribly  angry ;  but  he  met 
his  flashing  eye  with  a  calm,  steady  gaze. 

"  I've  been  measuring  your  work,"  said  the 
captain,  "  and  you  haven't  done  half  a  day's 
work  in  three  days." 

"  Capt.  Reeves,  I  have,"  said  Philip  calmly. 

"  You  dare  to  contradict  me  ?  "  said  the  cap- 
ttm. 

"  I  know,  sir,  that  I  have  worked  faithfully 


LIFE  IN  THE   WOODS.  83 

My  father  long  ago  taught  me  to  do  faithfully 
whatever  I  have  to.  do,  whether  I  am  watched 
or  not." 

"  There's  the  proof  of  your  faithfulness. 
There's  very  little  more  wood  here  than  there 
was  three  days  ago." 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,  but  I  have  had  a  suspi- 
cion that  some  one  has  been  stealing." 

"  A  very  cunning  supposition,  very.  But  I 
suspect  another  reason.  I've  seen  your  book 
in  your  pocket  every  morning.  Have  you  got 
it  here  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Bring  it  here." 

Philip  obeyed.  Capt.  Reeves  took  the 
book  in  his  hand,  and  tore  out  leaf  after  leaf, 
half  a  dozen  or  a  dozen  at  a  time,  and,  delib- 
erately tearing  them  into  bits,  scattered  them  to 
the  winds,  and  then  hurled  the  empty  covers 
with -his  full  strength  into  the  woods.  The 
coolness  with  which  it  was  done  gave  Philip 


84  LINSIDE  FARM. 

time  to  recover  his  self-command ;  and,  with 
firm-set  lips,  he  looked  on  without  a  word  till 
the  work  of  destruction  was  completed. 

"  There,  young  man,"  said  the  captain  :  "  I'll 
teach  you  to  go  to  studying  when  I  send  you  to 
work." 

"  Capt.  Reeves,"  said  Philip,  much  more 
calmly  than  the  captain  had  spoken,  "  you 
have  reason  to  suspect  me  of  dishonesty  ;  but  I 
give  you  my  word  of  honor  that  neither  that 
book  nor  any  other  has  ever  kept  me  from 
faithfully  doing  your  work." 

"  Your  word  of  honor !  "  sneered  the  captain. 
"  I'd  like  to  see  the  proof  of  your  faithful- 
ness. I  want  something  besides  empty  boast- 
ing." 

"  If  you  will  watch  the  logs  I  am  working 
on,  you  will  see,  sir.  I  have  no  objection  to 
being  watched,  if  it  is  only  done  thoroughly." 

"  I  will,  I  will.  I  shall  take  you  at  your 
word.  I  will  watch  you  hereafter ;  "  and,  care- 


LIFE  IN  THE    WOODS.  85 

fully  noting  the  unfinished  work  that  lay 
scattered  on  the  ground,  the  captain  left. 

Philip  took  up  his  axe,  and  worked  with 
desperation  for  an  hour  or  two.  He  dared  not 
stop  to  think  of  the  loss  of  his  precious  Latin 
grammar,  that  for  weeks  had  been  his  com- 
panion in  those  hours  of  otherwise  wearisome 
solitude.  He  had  studied  it  while  taking  his 

O 

nooning  ;  he  had  placed  it  open  before  him,  and 
glanced  over  its  declensions  and  conjugations 
and  rules,  and  then  repeated  them  audibly 
to  himself  while  faithfully  pursuing  his  work, 
measuring  their  rhythmic  cadences  with  the 
steady  strokes  of  his  axe  or  beetle. 

At  length  he  did  think.  Conscious  of  his 
integrity,  he  was  under  no  fear  of  detection ;  yet 
he  knew  appearances  were  against  him.  A 
suspicion  had  often  crossed  his  mind  that  his 
wood  was  purloined  ;  but  he  had  not  yet  made 
himself  so  sure  of  it  as  to  say  or  do  any  thing 
with  reference  to  the  matter.  But  the  thought 


86  L1NSIDE  FARM. 

that  he  was  under  suspicion  of  unfaithfulness 
stung  him  terribly.  He  thought  and  worked, 
and  worked  and  thought,  till  at  one  moment  he 
was  ready  to  fling  his  axe  after  the  covers  of 
his  Latin  grammar,  and  go,  he  cared  not 
whither. 

At  length  the  fire  of  his  anger  burned  itself 
out,  and  his  pride  of  integrity  re-asserted  itself 
in  full  power.  "  He  shall  know  that  I  am 
honest,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  shall  not  long  be 
under  this  suspicion." 

From  that  day  forward,  Philip  knew  that  he 
was  constantly  and  keenly  watched.  At  the 
most  unexpected  times,  and  from  the  most 
unlikely  directions,  the  captain  would  appear  in 
the  wood-lot,  silently  take  his  notes,  or  give 
some  order,  and  leave  again.  The  result  of  it 
all  was  a  clear  conviction  in  the  mind  of  the 
captain  that  his  boy  was  faithful,  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  the  petty  purloining  that 
had  at  first  brought  suspicion  upon  Philip  was 


LIFE  IN  THE    WOODS.  87 

carried  on  constantly.  But  of  this  conviction 
Philip  never  had  the  benefit.  He  felt  always 
the  cold  eye  of  suspicion  resting  upon  him,  and 
the  result  was  an  increasingly  defiant  trust  in 
his  conscious  uprightness. 

Yet,  after  all,  the  foundation  of  this  upright- 
ness was  simply  the  maxim  that  his  father  had 
for  so  many  years  carefully  instilled  into  his 
mind,  that  "  Honesty  is  the  best  policy."  It 
was  not  a  fixed  principle  to  do  right  for  the  sake 
of  right,  but  to  do  right  because  it  was  best  for 
himself.  "  My  father's  integrity  carried  him 
through,"  he  often  thought,  "  and  made  him  a 
prosperous  man,  and  it  must  and  shall  do  the 
same  for  me.  Only  five  years  from  next 
spring,  I  shall  be  free.  I  can  stand  it." 

By  and  by  there  was  a  change.  The 
captain  became  weary  of  a  watch  that  never 
afforded  the  smallest  advantage  to  his  savage 
delight  in  fault-finding.  Yet  he  had  so  fully 
made  up  his  mind  that  Philip  must  be  watched, 


88  LINSIDE  FARM. 

that  he  could  not  at  once  relinquish  his 
vigilance.  So,  without  Philip's  knowledge,  the 
task  was  deputed  to  Jerome. 

Great  was  Philip's  astonishment,  one  mild 
sunshiny  morning,  to  see  Jerome  come  limping 
into  the  narrow  enclosure  that  for  the  winter 
constituted  Philip's  world.  At  first  he  was  not 
only  astonished,  but  absolutely  alarmed ;  and, 
dropping  his  axe,  he  sprang  forward  to  meet 
him,  feeling  sure  that  the  crippled  boy,  whom 
he  had  never  before  seen  outside  the  comfort- 
able dining-room,  must  be  in  need  of  some 
assistance. 

"  Did  you  walk  all  the  way  out  here  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course.     Why  not  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  not  able.  Why,  it's  a 
full  mile." 

"  I'm  able  enough.  I  walk  every  day  a  mile 
or  two  miles.  It  is  all  I  am  good  for." 

Jerome's  face  settled  to  its  usual  expression 


LIFE  IN  THE    WOODS.  89 

of  indolent  apathy,  as  he  had  by  that  time 
readied  the  place  where  Philip  was  at  work, 
and  seated  himself  on  the  log,  while  Philip 
resumed  his  chopping. 

Jerome  looked  moodily  on.  At  length  he 
said,  "  I  would  give  my  whole  interest  in  the 
farm  if  I  could  swing  an  axe  like  that." 

Philip  stopped  in  amazement. 

"  I  would,"  Jerome  repeated.  "  If  I  could 
step  like  you,  and  work  like  you,  I'd  give  my 
whole  interest  in  the  farm." 

"  Why,  there  are  lots  of  things  you  can  do, 
Jerome,  if  you  can't  do  that." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Jerome.  "  But  he 
won't  let  me." 

"Who?" 

"  My  father.  He  won't  let  me.  He  was 
determined  to  make  a  working  farmer  of  me ; 
and,  because  I'm  not  fit  for  that,  he  throws  ma 
aside,  and  calls  me  good  for  nothing." 

"  But  you  can't  help  being  lame." 


90  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  I  could  have  helped  it.  And  that  is  what 
makes  him  mad.  He  can't  get  over  it,  that  in  a 
foolish  childish  quarrel,  I  disabled  myself  for 
life.'  I  am  sure  I  am  punished  enough  for  it," 
he  added  bitterly. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  And  yet  I've  often 
thought  if  I  had  your  chance  to  study,  I  would 
almost  be  willing  to  be  lame,  like  you." 

"  Yes,  I  can  study  a  little.  But  it's  dull 
studying  alone.  Father  never  gives  me  the 
least  encouragement,  and  he  won't  let  me  go  to 
college." 

"  So  we  have  been  envying  one  another, 
have  we  ?  " 

"  It  seems  so." 

Jerome  relapsed  into  a  moody  silence,  while 
Philip  continued  his  vigorous  work.  Stroke 
after,  stroke  kept  his  blood  bounding  and 
tingling  to  his  finger-ends  ;  while  Jerome  grew 
pinched  and  blue  in  the  chill  air,  passing  away 
the  time  breaking  off,  bit  by  bit,  a  dry  twig  he 
held  in  his  hand. 


UFE  IN  THE   WOODS.  91 

By  and  by  he  resumed  the  conversation. 

"  I  tell  you,  Philip,  I'm  troubled.  I  don't 
know  what  is  to  become  of  me.  I  am  eighteen 
years  old  now,  and  haven't  a  shadow  of  an  idea 
what  I  am  going  to  do  when  I  am  a  man.  I 
don't  see  that  I  am  likely  to  be  fit  for  any 
thing." 

"  Are  you  eighteen  ? "  asked  Philip  in 
surprise.  "  I  didn't  think  you  were  any  older 
than  I ;  and  I  am  not  sixteen  yet." 

"  I'm  not  any  older,  not  as  old  in  some 
respects.  I'm  not  fit  to-day  to  take  care  of 
myself,  while  you  can  go  on  independently." 

"  I  know  what  I  would  do  if  I  were  you," 
replied  Philip  hastily.  "  I'd  study."  And  the 
ring  of  his  axe  showed  with  what  vigor  and 
energy  he  could  apply  himself  to  his  favorite 
pursuit  if  permitted. 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  " 

"  What  then  ?  Why,  I  don't  know  what 
then.  But  you  would  be  just  so  much  better 
prepared  for  any  thing  that  might  turn  up." 


92  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  Nothing  ever  turns  up  for  me." 

A  man  of  experience,  any  man  of  forty, 
would  certainly  have  exclaimed  with  astonish- 
ment, "  Discouraged  at  eighteen  !  "  But,  really, 
to  Jerome  and  Philip,  life  stretching  before 
them  offered  but  few  attractions,  though  for 
reasons  widely  different  in  the  case  of  the  two 
boys.  Yet  they  were  a  help  to  one  another. 
Philip's  vigorous  "  I'd  study  "  sank  into  the 
listless  brain  of  the  lame  boy  with  a  weight  that 
might  tell  some  time,  if  not  at  once ;  while 
Jerome's  envy  of  Philip's  strength  and  ability 
to  labor  and  help  himself  made  him  appreciate 
more  keenly  the  value  of  that  strength.  Philip 
watched  Jerome,  as,  after  a  while,  he  took  up 
his  crutch  and  laboriously  walked  homeward ; 
and  felt  afterwards  a  glow  of  energy  in  the  exer- 
cise of  his  vigorous  strength,  that  amounted  to 
positive  enjoyment. 


PHILIP'S  EYES  OPENED.  93 


CHAPTER    VI. 

PHILIP'S    EYES    OPENED. 

'FTER  that  day,  Jerome  became  a 
frequent  visitor  in  the  wood-lot. 
Philip  now  and  then  suspected  that 
he  was  sent  for  the  purpose  of 
watching  him,  as  Capt.  Reeves  had  ceased  to 
perform  that  task  himself.  The  thought  of  be- 
ing suspected  of  not  performing  his  duty  faith- 
fully rankled  in  his  mind  like  being  charged  with 
theft.  Still,  Jerome's  presence  gave  him  the 
sympathy  of  boy  with  boy,  and  brightened  the 
solitude  of  his  weary  winter's  labor.  It  had  be- 
come evident  that  Philip's  wood-piles  were  sub- 
ject to  constant  thefts ;  but  the  annoyance 
which  Capt.  Reeves  felt  at  being  thus  deprived 
of  his  own  was  visited  upon  Philip's  head. 


94  LINS1DE  FARM. 

Several  times,  while  Philip  had  been  busily 
plying  his  axe,  he  had  noticed  a  stranger,  a 
young  man,  walking  leisurely,  near  the  close  of 
day,  among  the  trees  and  brush  that  sur- 
rounded the  wood-lot ;  sometimes  closely  scan- 
ning a  tree  or  bush,  sometimes  picking  up  a 
stone  and  examining  it  with  care,  but  never 
coming  near  enough  to  make  any  approach  to 
an  acquaintance.  He  was  young,  yet  there 
was  an  air  of  dignity  and  manliness  about  him 
that  made  Philip  regard  him  with  a  shy 
respect. 

As  spring  approached,  his  visits  to  the  woods 
increased  in  frequency,  and  his  researches  were 
pursued  with  greater  activity  and  keener  zest. 
Sometimes  he  could  be  seen  brushing  aside 
with  his  foot  the  heaps  of  decayed  leaves  from 
the  foot  of  a  tree,  or  from  the  sunny  side  of  an 
old  log,  and  stooping  to  gather  up  something 
from  the  ground.  Again  he  would  climb  a 
tree  to  break  off  some  of  its  twigs,  which  he 


PHILIP'S  EYES  OPENED.  95 

tucked  away  in  his  pockets  with  great  care. 
Philip  was  puzzled  by  his  movements,  and  was 
sometimes  half  inclined  to  believe  him  crazy. 
Still,  he  looked  day  by  day  for  his  appearance, 
and  hoped  some  opportunity  for  making  his 
acquaintance  would  yet  arise.  He  seldom 
came  till  near  night,  usually  after  Jerome  had 
left  to  go  home. 

Jerome  no  longer  seemed  like  an  overseer  or 
task-master.  Indeed,  he  had  acted  in  that  capa- 
city only  in  a  few  of  his  first  visits  to  the  woods. 
From  that  time  he  had  flung  away  from  him 
all  share  in  his  father's  suspicions  as  to  Philip's 
unfaithfulness,  and  had  taken  his  daily  walk  as 
a  mere  matter  of  personal  gratification.  He 
enjoyed  being  with  Philip  better  than  sit- 
ting all  day  in  his  mother's  dining-room,  or 
taking  a  share  in  Miss  Sophy's  occupation  of 
the  parlor,  where  she  kept  up  an  incessant 
drumming  on  an  ancient  piano  that  had  be- 
longed to  her  mother  in  the  days  of  her  maiden- 
hood. 


96  LINSIDE  FARM. 

But  Jerome's  listless  mind  and  manner 
brought  no  stimulus  to  Philip's  mental  activity. 
Occasionally  a  twinge  of  pain  would  pass 
through  the  boy's  mind  as  he  remembered  his 
former  zeal  and  fire  in  the  pursuit  of  study. 
But,  though  he  now  and  then  feebly  endeavored 
to  recall  a  conjugation,  or  to  repeat  a  rule  of 
syntax,  yet  it  seemed  to  him,  that,  in  that  act 
of  Capt.  Reeves  which  deprived  him  of  his 
Latin  grammar,  a  fatal  barrier  was  reared  be- 
tween himself  and  all  further  progress  in  that 
department  of  knowledge.  Some  other  books 
yet  remained  to  him ;  but,  after  his  daily  task 
was  accomplished  in  the  open  air,  energy  failed 
him  on  returning  to  the  house  :  and,  with  no 
one  to  sympathize  in  his  tastes,  or  urge  him  on, 
he  had  fallen  into  a  hopeless  lethargy. 

One  day  the  stranger  of  the  woods  suddenly 
appeared  quite  near  him,  and  approached, 
evidently  with  the  intention  of  opening  a  con- 
versation. Philip  was  glad  that  Jerome  was 


PHILIP'S  EYES  OPENED.  97 

already  gone,  for  he  somehow  clung  with  a 
strange  jealousy  to  the  hope  of  making  a  new 
acquaintance,  in  his  enjoyment  of  which  no  one 
should  interfere. 

As  the  young  man  drew  near,  Philip  had 
abundant  opportunity  to  observe  his  fine  coun- 
tenance and  beaming  eye  ;  and  he  began  to  find 
himself  drawn  to  the  stranger  by  a  stronger  as 
well  as  a  more  noble  tie  than  mere  curiosity. 

At  length,  the  stranger  accosted  him  with  a 
familiar  "  Good-evening,  Philip." 

"  Good-evening,  sir,"  replied  Philip  :  "  but  I 
can't  imagine  how  you  know  my  name,"  he 
added,  encouraged  by  the  pleasant  smile  of  his 
new  companion. 

"  You  would  like  to  know  mine  in  return, 
would  you  ?  Mine  is  White,  —  Arthur 
White." 

"  Arthur   White  !  "    repeated    Philip.      "  I 
don't  remember  that  I  was  ever  acquainted  with 
any  one  of  that  name." 
7 


98  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  Probably  not.  At  least  not  with  me.  I 
learned  your  name  from  a  gentleman  in  town 
last  night.  I  walked  over  to  town  after  my 
school  was  out  last  night  (I  teach  school  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  here)  ;  and  there  I  met 
Mr.  Parker,  superintendent  of  the  High 
School.  He  told  me  about  you,  and  wanted 
me  to  hunt  you  up,  and  see  how  you  were  get- 
ting along." 

Philip's  axe  slipped  through  his  hand,  and 
rested  on  the  ground.  A  tide  of  memories 
rushed  over  him,  that  six  months  before  had 
trooped  daily  through  his  brain.  How  far 
removed  he  seemed  from  his  former  self!  and 
yet  it  was  so  little  a  time  since  Chesterfield,  his 
home,  his  school,  his  teacher,  his  steady  prog- 
ress in  his  beloved  studies,  were  things  of 
every-day  life.  Now  they  seemed  shadowy  in 
the  distance. 

True,  it  was  not  yet  a  year  since  he  had  left 
all  these  surroundings ;  but  so  great  had  been 


PHILIP'S  EYES  OPENED.  99 

the  change,  so  complete  the  separation,  and  so 
stupefying  the  influences  around  him,  that,  as 
these  memories  were  now  so  freshly  awakened, 
he  scarcely  recognized  himself. 

"  Mr.  Parker  remembers  me,  then,  does  he  ?  " 
asked  Philip  at  length. 

"  Oh,  yes,  perfectly  !  and  feels  much  inter- 
ested in  you.  I  told  him  I  would  come  and  see 
you  once  in  a  while." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  I  am  so  glad  you  came ! 
But  you  mean  you  will  come  and  see  me  here. 
You  won't  come  down  there,  will  you  ?  " 

«  Why  not  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  they  would  like  it  if  I  should 
have  a  visitor." 

"  Ah  !  well,  we'll  see.  I  would  rather  come 
here,  for  I  love  the  woods.  Mr.  Parker  told 
me  I  must  help  you  all  I  can." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  help  me. '  I  have 
nothing  to  do  but  swing  this  axe  and  pile  cord- 
wood  from  morning  till  night.  I  don't  see  how 
you  can  help  me  about  that." 


100  LINSIDE    FARM. 

"  Nothing  to  do  but  that,  dear  boy  ?  How 
have  you  fallen  into  such  a  mistake  ?  That  is 
the  smallest  part  of  what  you  have  to  do." 

Philip  looked  up  surprised,  as  he  tossed  a 
heavy  stick  on  the  top  of  his  pile.  He  had 
dropped  his  axe,  and  busied  himself  with  piling 
up,  so  that  he  might  work  and  talk  at  once. 

"  The  captain  don't  think  so,  Mr.  White." 

"  God  thinks  so,"  replied  Mr.  White  ear- 
nestly ;  "  and  he  is  your  master,  above  Capt. 
Reeves.  The  use  of  your  time  and  the  labor  of 
your  hands  certainly  belong  to  Capt.  Reeves  ; 
but,  along  with  all  this,  you  have  a  higher  work 
to  be  carrying  on,  —  living  unto  the  Lord  all  the 
while,  using  your  mind  and  strengthening  your 
soul  in  his  work.  Listen  to  what  he  says  ; "  and, 
drawing  a  Testament  out  of  his  pocket,  he  read, 
"  Therefore  I  say  unto  you,  take  no  thought 
for  your -life,  what  ye  shall  eat,  or  what  ye 
shall  drink,  nor  yet  for  your  body,  what  ye 
shall  put  on.  Is  not  the  life  more  than  meat, 


PHILIP'S  EYES  OPENED.  101 

and  the  body  than  raiment  ?  But  seek  ye  first 
the  kingdom  of  God,  and  his  righteousness,  and 
all  these  things  shall  be  added  unto  you.  Take, 
therefore,  no  thought  for  the  morrow  ;  for  the 
morrow  shall  *take  thought  for  the  things  of 
itself.  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof." 

"  Mother  used  to  tell  me  about  such  things, 
but  now  I  never  hear  of  any  thing  but  work." 

"  But  you  have  your  mother's  words  to 
think  about,  you  have  your  Sabbaths,  and  you 
have  your  Bible ;  and,  Philip,  you  are  respon- 
sible for  yourself.  The  very  woods  here  ought 
to  teach  you  many  lessons.  You  are  here 
alone  hours  together  every  day,  day  after  day ; 
and  God  is  here  with  you.  He  can  make  the 
woods  glorious  to  you,  and  pleasant,  with  his 
presence.  I  love  to  find  God  in  every  thing." 

"  I  used  to  think  of  something  besides  work," 
said  Philip,  turning  the  conversation  from  the 
searching  religious  tone  it  was  assuming.  "  I 


102  LINSIDE  FARM. 

used  to  find  employment  for  my  mind  ;  but  now 
it  is  only  muscle." 

"  That's  just  as  you  choose  to  take  it," 
replied  Mr.  White.  "  Did  you  never  read  of 
Hugh  Miller?  He  made  it  something  more  than 
a  work  of  muscle  to  quarry  stone.  Look  at 
tins  fragment,"  said  he,  picking  up  a  bit  of 
limestone  with  which  the  woods  abounded, 
and  which  happened  to  -contain  a  beautiful 
imbedded  shell.  "  Just  such  books  as  this 
•he  used  to  study.  Here  is  a  page  of  history 
handed  down  from  countless  ages.  That  bit  of 
stone  is  a  marvel.  If  you  could  read  its  lesson 
fully,  if  you  could  unravel  its  past  history,  you 
would  be  wiser  as  to  that  particular  point  than 
any  man  living.  At  least,  it  should  serve  to 
awaken  thought,  and  show  that  all  Nature,  in 
every  department  and  every  phase,  is  full  of 
meaning.  So  it  was  to  Hugh  Miller." 

"  But  he  was  a  man." 

"So   will    you    be  soon.       You   know   the 


PHILIP'S  EYES  OPENED.  103 

saying,  '  The  boy  is  father  to  the  man.'  You 
will  be  whatever  you  make  of  yourself.  If 
you  come  down  to  mere  muscle  at  sixteen,  you 
will  probably  be  mere  muscle  at  forty. 
But  I  am  not  getting  along  with  my  work.  I 
came  around  in  part  to  see  this  fresh  stump 
you  have  been  cutting  from,  to  find  out  how 
old  this  tree  was."  And,  taking  a  penknife 
from  his  pocket,  he  carefully  counted  the  rings 
of  annual  growth  laid  bare  by  the  strokes  of 
Philip's  axe. 

"  Eighty  years  old,"  said  he  as  he  finished. 
"  I  counted  one  over  yonder  that  was  nearly 
two  hundred.  And  see  here  how  the  growth 
varies  in  different  years !  Here  must  have  been 
a  very  dry,  poor  season,  or  else  the  tree  met 
with  some  misfortune  that  year,  and  had  to 
spend  its  energy  in  repairing  damages.  But 
one  thing  we  may  be  sure  of:  every  single 
year  it  has  done  its  best." 

"  I  see  now  what  you  have  been  doing.     I 


104   .  LINSIDE  FARM. 

have  often  wondered,  when  I  have  seen  you  so 
busy  among  the  trees  and  the  weeds.  I  see, 
now,  you  have  been  studying." 

"  Yes :  winter  is  the  time  to  learn  some 
tilings  about  plants.  Then  we  can  see  the 
uses  of  the  gums  and  resins  and  scales  and 
woolly  coverings,  and  many  other  things  tha* 
are  laid  aside  in  summer.  So,  Philip,  you  have 
been  to  school  all  winter.  Did  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  see  it  now,  just  as  the  chance  is 
going  by.  That  is  always  the  way  for  me. 
Whenever  I  begin  to  think  I  have  a  chance  to 
do  something,  it  always  slips  away  from  me." 
Then  followed  the  story  of  the  loss  of  his  Latin 
grammar. 

"  Philip,"  said  Mr.  White  gravely,  "  it  is  a 
weak  and  unmanly  thing  to  be  always  mourn- 
ing over  .lost  opportunities.  Don't  fall  into 
that.  Take  hold  of  life  in  good  earnest ;  and  if 
you  have  laid  in  one  thin  poor  ring  of  growth 
this  last  year,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  stump 


PHILIP'S  EYES  OPENED.  105 

as  he  spoke,  "  don't  give  up.  Don't  wait  for 
opportunities,  but  make  them.  Do  your  best 
each  day.  May  be  I  can  help  you  some.  I  am 
coming  to  see  you  often."  And,  with  a  hearty 
shake  of  the  hand,  lie  bade  Philip  good-night, 
and  left  him. 

"I  have  worked  here  so  much,  and  seen  so 
little  !  "  was  Philip's  mental  exclamation  as  Mr. 
White  passed  out  of  view.  "  Just  chopping, 
chopping,  and  never  looking  nor  thinking  at 
all."  His  step  was  more  elastic  than  usual  as 
he  went  home  that  night.  Not  that  he  was  less 
weary  than  usual ;  but  the  pleasant  mental 
activity  that  had  been  awakened  within  him 
served  as  a  gentle  stimulus  that  stirred  his 
whole  being  with  an  unaccustomed  glow. 

Mr.  White,  true  to  his  word,  paid  him  fre- 
quent visits  after  that,  and  pointed  out  to  him 
many  interesting  facts  in  the  vegetable  growth 
by  which  he  was  surrounded,  directing  his  atten- 
tion to  the  more  delicate  effects  produced  by  the 


106  LINSIDE  FARM. 

approach  of  spring.  His  interest  grew  more 
and  more  keen,  and  he  was  beginning  to  watch 
intently  the  swelling  buds,  and  note  the  grad- 
ual awakening  of  Nature.  He  had  learned  to 
love  his  woods-life.  One  evening,  as  he  left  his 
work,  he  gathered  a  handful  of  spring  violets, 
the  first  of  the  season,  called  out  of  their  lurk- 
ing places  by  an  unusually  bright  sunshiny  time. 
He  took  them  home  for  Pauly.  The  child  met 
him,  as  she  often  did,  and  clapped  her  hands 
for  joy  over  her  treasures. 

"  Now,  Philip,  you  will  bring  me  some  every 
day,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  No  more,  Pauly.  You  will  have  to  find 
your  own  posies,"  said  her  father  abruptly. 
"  Philip,  you  needn't  go  to  the  woods  any 
more.  I  shall  have  other  work  for  you  here- 
after." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Philip. 

He  entered  the  house  mechanically,  and 
dropped  in  a  chair  in  the  kitchen.  "  It's  always 


PHILIP'S  EYES  OPENED.  107 

the  vay  for  me,"  he  found  himself  saying. 
"  Jr  it  when  I  think  I  have  found  a  chance  to 
imp.  ove  a  little,  it  is  snatched  away  from  me." 

B  it  a  moment  more,  and  Mr.  White's  words 
earn*;  to  his  mind.  "  It  is  a  weak  and  unmanly 
thing  to  mourn  over  lost  opportunities.  Go 
on,  and  do  your  best  each  day." 

A  resolute  "  I'll  try  "  brought  a  glow  to  his 
cheek  and  a  sparkle  to  his  eye.  No  one  was 
looking  at  him  to  notice  it :  no  one  to  give 
him  a  word  of  encouragement.  But  God's  eye 
was  on  the  lonely  boy,  and  God's  hand  was 
leading  him  by  a  way  that  he  knew  not. 


108 


LINSIDE  FARM. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

MARKET-GARDENING. 

O  little  interest  did  Philip  feel  in 
his  work,  as  mere  work,  that  he  had 
scarcely  given  a  second  thought  to 
Capt.  Reeves's  announcement  that 
other  work  would  be  awaiting  him  on  the  mor- 
row. He  thought  only  that  he  was  going  to 
the  woods  no  more,  not  even  to  follow  with  his 
observations  the  unfolding  of  a  clump  of  ferns 
that  he  had  been  watching  since  the  first  peep 
above  ground  of  their  woolly  heads.  He  had, 
of  course,  only  been  giving  them  occasional 
momentary  glances.  He  had  become  so  fully 
impressed  with  the  necessity  of  improving 
every  moment  by  the  constant  watching  to 
which  he  had  been  subjected,  that  he  was  in 


MARKET- GARDENING.  109 

little  danger  of  idling.  Besides,  Jerome  was 
often  there,  sunning  himself  on  a  log,  and  list- 
lessly wishing  for  vigor  and  strength  to  do 
something.  Philip  had  tried  to  turn  Jerome's 
leisure  to  good  account,  both  for  himself 
and  for  Jerome ;  but  could  not  succeed  in 
arousing  him  from  his  accustomed  apathy.  The 
difficulty  was,  after  all,  not  so  much  in  want  of 
strength,  as  want  of  energy. 

In  the  morning,  Philip  found  his  work,  for  a 
time,  was  to  be  about  the  kitchen-garden, — 
first  preparing  hot-beds  in  which  seeds  were  to 
be  sown  for  early  vegetables,  then  preparing 
and  planting  in  the  open  air  the  fuller  supply 
of  common  garden  products.  One  thing 
brightened  his  daily  employment,  and  that  was 
Pauly's  presence.  Up  and  down  the  garden- 
walks  she  flitted,  hither  and  thither,  as  spring 
advanced,  among  the  beds  in  which  beets  and 
onions  and  lettuce  were  beginning  to  show  their 
rows  of  tender  green,  now  and  then  coming 


110  LINSIDE  FARM. 

near  Philip,  and  whiling  away  his  liours  with 
her  childish  talk,  and  then  dancing  away  in  her 
freedom,  while  Philip  continued  his  allotted 
task. 

He  had  no  objection  to  being  tasked,  but  he 
longed  for  opportunities  for  combining  mental 
improvement  with  his  physical  toil.  He  fan- 
cied he  had  just  been  learning  how  to  do  so, 
directed  by  the  occasional  suggestions  of  Mr. 
White ;  but  again  his  way  seemed  hedged  up. 
Now  and  then  he  felt  inclined  to  bemoan  him- 
self; but  a  sudden  recollection  of  Mr.  White's 
"  Don't  whine,  Philip,"  added  to  his  father's 
"  Live  honorably,  my  son,"  roused  him,  and 
helped  to  keep  alive  his  failing  sense  of  manli- 
ness. Yet  he  often  felt,  and  not  without  rea- 
son, that  Capt.  Reeves  kept  a  jealous  watch 
over  him,  and  purposely  thwarted  him  in  every 
effort  to  enrich  his  mind.  The  captain's  ideal 
of  life  was  restricted  to  performing  the  greatest 
amount  of  manual  toil,  living  on  the  least  out- 


MARKET-  GARDENING.  Ill 

lay  of  expense,  and  laying  up  money.  To  the 
first  two  of  these  duties  of  life  he  had  it  in  his 
power  to  hold  Philip  closely :  the  third  was 
his  own  prerogative.  As  for  Philip,  he  had 
scarcely  seen  a  dime  since  he  came  under  Capt. 
Reeves's  supervision. 

So  Philip  cultivated  his  radishes  and  lettuce, 
and,  under  the  direction  of  his  master,  urged 
them  on  to  an  early  growth. 

"  To-morrow  they  must  go  to  market,"  said 
the  captain,  after  overlooking  the  condition  of 
his  garden  one  evening.  "  To-morrow  morn- 
ing, Philip,  you  must  be  up  bright  and  early, 
by  three  o'clock :  do  you  understand,  Philip  ? 
And  I'll 'be  out  here  to  show  you  for  the  first 
time  how  to  put  up  your  marketing,  and  you 
can  go  to  town  with  it.  You  haven't  been  in 
since  you  came  out  here  last  fall,  have  you  ? 
Now  you  can  go  every  day." 

Philip  looked  up  in  amazement,  and  without 
his  accustomed  "  Yes,  sir."  But  Capt.  Reeves 


112  LINSIDE  FARM. 

noticed  neither  the  look  of  dismay  nor  the 
omission  of  the  reply.  He  had  given  his  order 
and  walked  away,  troubling  himself  no  further. 

Philip's  past  life  —  his  town-life,  his  home-life 
—  all  rushed  upon  his  awakened  recollection. 
He  turned  involuntarily  towards  Chesterfield, 
and  gazed,  as  if  in  a  dream,  on  the  ever-present 
panorama'  of  the  distant  town.  He  thought  he 
had  grown  callous  to  the  impression.  He  had, 
at  times,  been  able  to  scan  every  well-remem- 
bered spot  with  indifference ;  but  now  how 
changed ! 

He  had  sometimes  gone  with  his  father  to 
the  market  as  a  matter  of  amusement.  He 
had  seen  the  long  lines  of  wagons  backed  in 
against  the  curb-stones,  with  their  various  con- 
tents,—  vegetables,  chickens,  butter,  eggs, — 
and  had  looked  with  childish  curiosity  at  the 
sunburnt  and  toil-worn  faces,  some  of  them 
prematurely  old  with  excess  of  toil  and  labor. 
He  had  pitied  them,  knowing  that  some  of  them 


MARKET- GARDENING.  113 

had  come  from  a  distance,  taking  their  stand 
the  night  before,  and  sleeping  either  in  their 
wagons  or  on  the  pavement,  that  they  might  be 
on  hand  early  with  their  various  wares.  But 
it  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  one 
day  take  his  place  among  them,  and  clamor  for 
the  patronage  of  the  town-people.  His  friends, 
his  father's  friends,  his  old  associates,  school- 
mates perhaps,  would  meet  him  there.  For 
once  he  felt  that  he  could  not,  absolutely  could 
not,  obey  his  master's  orders.  To  complain,  to 
try  to  beg  off,  and  to  give  such  reasons  as  he 
must  give,  if  called  upon,  would  only  exasper- 
ate Capt.  Reeves.  Philip  felt,  as  he  had  never 
felt  before,  what  it  was  to  be  a  bound  boy.  He 
had  yet  to  learn  that  true  nobility  of  character 
depends  not  at  all  upon  what  a  person  does, 
provided  it  be  an  honest  and  lawful  calling, 
but  upon  how  it  is  done,  and  with  what 
spirit. 

The  next  morning,  Philip  was  up  at  three. 
8 


114  L INSIDE  FARM. 

Scarcely  had  he  risen,  when  he  heard  the  cap- 
tain  astir  below.  Philip  sprang  down  the  nar- 
row back  stairs,  with  the  air  of  one  forcing 
himself  to  an  unwilling  task.  The  captain  was 
soon  by  his  side  in  the  garden,  pulling  and 
carefully  packing  in  boxes  the  few  products  of 
the  garden  then  ready  for  use. 

"  This  lettuce  can't  be  beat,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, as  he  arranged  the  crisp  leaves.  "  If  you 
don't  sell  every  bit  of  it,  and  get  the  very  best 
price,  it  will  be  your  own  fault.  This  garden- 
patch  ought  to  net  me  a  good  round  sum  ;  and 
it  will  if  it  is  properly  managed.  Do  you 
understand  that,  Philip  ?  If  it  is  properly 
managed,  I  say." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Philip  mechanically. 

By  four  o'clock,  Philip  was  mounted  on  his 
little  cart,  drawn  by  the  oldest  and  poorest 
horse  the  farm  afforded.  The  morning  was 
bright  and  cheery,  yet  it  brought  no  exhilara- 
tion to  Philip.  So  completely  were  all  his 


MARKET- GARDENING.  115 

previous  notions  of  life  overturned  by  the  unex- 
pected task  laid  upon  him,  that  even  the  golden 
morning  clouds,  and  the  sweet  air,  and  the 
glittering  dew  were  scarcely  noticed.  So  long 
as  his  work  had  been  confined  within  the  limits 
of  Linside  Farm,  he  had  nad  no  such  feelings 
about  it.  It  was  pride  that  was  touched  now. 
Years  afterwards,  he  could  look  back  and  laugh 
at  his  folly,  and  even  rejoice  in  all  the  discipline 
through  which  he  had  been  brought;  but,  on 
that  morning,  nothing  was  further  from  his 
mood  of  mind  than  laughter. 

As  he  approached  the  town,  as  its  streets 
and  squares  and  buildings  grew  more  and  more 
distinct,  until  at  length  he  crossed  Rock  River, 
and  mounted  the  steep  bank  that  brought  him 
at  once  into  the  busiest  street,  he  drew  down 
his  cap  over  his  face,  that  he  might  not  be  rec- 
ognized. Poor  boy  !  there  was  no  need.  Had 
the  streets  been  crowded  with  his  own  compan- 
ions, they  would  scarcely  have  identified,  on  his 


116  LINSIDE  FARM. 

market-cart,  and  in  his  shabby  apparel,  Philip 
Landon,  who  used  to  be  among  the  best  clad 
and  brightest  of  them.  The  streets,  however, 
were  still  and  deserted.  Not  a  shutter  was  yet 
removed  from  the  places  of  business,  nor  a 
straggler  to  be  seen  on  the  walks.  Philip's 
friends  and  companions  and  playmates  were 
taking  their  morning  naps,  and  not  dreaming 
that  he  was  passing,  perhaps,  by  their  very 
doors.  Philip  was  glad  of  it,  and  drove  on,  as 
hastily  as  his  poor  old  horse  could  be  persuaded 
to  go,  to  the  market-square. 

When  Philip  reached  the  square  with  his 
cart,  he  found  many  already  in  advance  of  him. 
He  had  scarcely  taken  his  position,  backing  his 
little  cart  against  the  curbing,  when  customers 
began  to  arrive,  —  caterers  for  hotels  and  res- 
taurants and  boarding-houses,  men  of  business 
and  of  trade,  seeking  supplies  for  their  families, 
busy  house-keepers,  —  all  bearing  the  stamp  of 
their  business  about  them.  Philip  felt  strangely 


MARKET -GARDENING.  117 

awkward  in  his  unaccustomed  employment. 
He  looked  eagerly  among  the  purchasers,  who 
soon  increased  to  a  throng,  scarcely  knowing 
whether  he  hoped  or  dreaded  to  see  among 
them  a  familiar  face.  Many  came  and  went, 
whose  faces  he  well  knew  as  citizens,  but  none 
with  whom  he  could  have  claimed  any  further 
acquaintance.  As  Capt.  Reeves  had  said, 
Philip's  vegetables  "  could  not  be  beat ;  "  and,  as 
it  was  very  early  in  the  season,  his  boxes  were 
soon  empty,  and  he  was  able  to  turn  towards 
home,  with  the  feeling  that  he  had  narrowly 
escaped  disgrace.  It  was  an  ignoble  pride  ;  but, 
perhaps,  no  one,  under  the  circumstances,  would 
have  been  wholly  free  from  it. 

When  Philip  reached  home,  he  found  the 
family  just  seated  at  breakfast.  As  he  passed 
through  the  dining-room  to  his  humble  seat  at 
the  kitchen-table,  Capt.  Reeves  called  out  to 
him  for  the  money  he  had  brought  back. 
Philip  stood  beside  him,  cap  in  hand,  while  he 


118  LINSIDE  FARM. 

carefully  counted  over  the  dimes  and  half-dimes, 
and  pronounced  the  returns  correct.  He  knew 
perfectly  what  he  ought  to  expect  ;  he  knew 
the  number  of  bunches  of  radishes  and  heads  of 
lettuce,  and  how  much,  at  that  stage  of  the 
market,  each  might  be  expected  to  bring. 

It  was  the  first  time,  since  Philip  came  to 
Linside  Farm,  that  he  had  had  the  handling  of 
any  money.  As  he  handed  it  over  to  the  cap- 
tain, the  thought  flashed  over  him,  "When  am  I 
going  to  earn  any  thing  for  myself?  Not  till 
I  am  twenty-one  ?  Not  for  five  years  yet  ?  " 
With  all  the  confidence  and  buoyancy  of 
youth,  he  felt  sure  that  nothing  would  be 
wanting  to  him,  if  he  were  only  free  to  go 
where  he  pleased  and  do  what  he  pleased  for  his 
own  support.  But  to  remain  yet  for  five  years, 
with  no  independent  earnings  of  his  own,  even 
though  his  food  and  raiment  were  secured  to 
him,  seemed  intolerable. 

As,  day  after  day  and  week  after  week,  ha 


MARKET- GARDENING.  119 

brought  back  from  his  marketing  the  proceeds 
of  his  labor,  this  feeling  grew  upon  him.  With 
no  deeply-instilled  trust  in  the  care  of  God 
over  him,  —  indeed,  with  no  reminder,  from 
day  to  day,  even  of  the  existence  of  God,  — 
this  was  not  strange. 

As  the  season  advanced,  Philip  found  less 
ready  sale  for  his  wares.  Sometimes  the 
market  was  overstocked,  and  prices  fell  below 
the  limit  fixed  by  his  master  for  him.  His  stay 
became  more  protracted  and  wearisome,  and 
sometimes  he  was  nearly  ready  to  faint  with 
hunger.  At  length,  one  sultry  morning,  he 
found  it  impossible  to  dispose  of  his  stock.  He 
waited  till  the  market  was  deserted  both  by 
hucksters  and  purchasers.  The  freshness  was 
gone  from  his  vegetables  ;  and,  finding  longer 
delay  useless,  he  started  homeward,  with  his 
baskets  and  boxes  still  half  full. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ? "  exclaimed  the 
captain  angrily,  as  Philip  gave  in  the  returns  of 
his  morning's  work. 


120  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  I  couldn't  sell  all,"  replied  Philip.  "  The 
market  was  full." 

"  Well,  what  if  it  was  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  couldn't  sell." 

"  And  you  didn't  know  what  to  do  in  such  a 
case  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  except  to  come  away." 

"  You'll  know  next  time.  Just  drive  round 
from  house  to  house,  and  keep  on  till  you  do 
sell." 

"  0  Capt.  Reeves  !  I  can't." 

"You  can't?"  exclaimed  the  captain. 
"  Try  it,  and  see  if  you  can't !  No  '  can'ts  '  to 
me,  young  man.  Just  try  it,  and  see  if  you 
can't.  Remember,  now.  And  don't  wait  till 
every  thing  is  spoiled,  either.  Be  sharp ! 
Whenever  you  find  an  overstocked  market,  just 
start  out.  Don't  tell  me  you  can't.  I  expected 
your  confounded  pride  would  be  the  plague  of 
my  life,  when  you  brought  your  city  airs  out 
here  with  you.  Let  me  see  no  more  of  it. 


MARKET- GARDENING.  121 

And  when  you  take  things  to  town  to  sell,  sell 
them." 

"  Why,  Philip,"  said  Miss  Sophy,  « it  will 
give  you  a  chance  to  ride  around,  and  see  all 
your  old  friends." 

"  Be  still,  Sophy,"  said  her  mother,  who 
always  had  a  warm  side  towards  Philip.  "  You 
wouldn't  like  it,  neither." 

"  I,  mother,  I ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Sophy  in 
amazement. 

"  Yes,  you.  You  don't  know  what  you'll 
come  to  yet." 

The  young  lady  tossed  her  head  scornfully, 
and  left  the  room.  Philip  also  passed  out  in  the 
opposite  direction,  and  the  little  scene  was  over. 
During  the  remainder  of  the  day,  as  Philip 
attended  to  his  customary  tasks  in  the  garden, 
he  felt  half  inclined  to  turn,  in  sheer  revenge, 
upon  his  culinary  vegetables  the  impotent 
wrath  that  smouldered  against  Capt.  Reeves. 
He  wished  for  frost,  for  drought,  for  caterpillars, 


122  LINSIDE  FARM. 

for  any  thing  and  every  thing  that  might 
destroy  the  products  of  his  garden,  and  put  a 
stop  to  his  daily  visits  to  Chesterfield.  He 
loathed  the  thought  of  the  town  he  had 
formerly  so  loved.  It  could  not  be  denied  that 
a  dash  of  malignity  towards  the  captain  also 
ohtruded  among  his  thoughts.  That  money 
should  come  to  him,  at  so  great  an  expense  to 
Philip,  was  too  much  to  be  endured.  Even 
Pauly  found  him  silent  and  moody. 

Yet  for  Philip  there  was  no  escape.  It  was 
but  a  few  days  until  the  necessity  occurred  that 
drove  him  forth  into  the  streets,  to  pass  from 
house  to  house,  asking,  "  Want  to  buy  any 
lettuce,  radishes,  beans,  onions  ?  "  Time  after 
time  he  went  his  weary  round,  always  avoiding 
the  streets  with  which  he  was  most  familiar. 

During  this  period  of  Philip's  trafficking  in 
town,  old  friends  and  comrades  had  often  passed 
him  ;  but,  in  his  changed  situation  and  garb, 
with  a  little  caution  on  his  part,  he  had  as  yet 


MARKET-  GARDENING.  123 

been  unrecognized.  Had  the  foolish  boy 
known  how  many  kind  recognitions,  how  many 
warm  greetings  and  proofs  of  affectionate 
remembrance,  he  had  missed,  both  from  school- 
fellows of  his  own,  and  from  friends  of  his 
parents,  possibly  he  might  have  sought,  rather 
than  avoided,  being  known.  But  his  faith  in 
human  nature,  as  to  its  kindly  elements,  had 
been  shaken  since  he  had  been  thrown  upon  his 
own  resources ;  and  while  he  imagined  he  was 
endeavoring,  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  to  obey 
his  father's  injunction  to  "  live  honorably,"  he 
was  turning  to  bitterness  all  those  generous 
feelings  that  had  gained  for  his  father  many 
friends,  and  had  served  as  stepping-stones  to 
secure  that  honorable  position  in  life,  and  that 
competence  which  had  made  Philip's  early 
home  so  cheerful  and  bright. 

In  his  wanderings  one  day,  near  the  close  of 
June,  almost  in  despair  of  being  able  to  dispose  of 
a  large  quantity  of  strawberries  he  had  brought 


124  LINSIDE  FARM. 

in,  a  lady's  voice  suddenly  called  to  him,  inquir- 
ing for  strawberries. 

Philip  turned,  and  found  the  person  address- 
ing him  was  one  of  his  mother's  nearest  and 
dearest  friends.  She  had  moved  to  a  new 
home,  where  Philip  could  not  have  expected  to 
see  her.  There  was  no  escape.  Though  she 
had  not  yet  recognized  him,  he  felt  sure  it  must 
come. 

Taking  some  boxes  of  his  finest  fruit,  he  dis- 
mounted from  his  seat,  and  carried  them  to  her 
door.  She  made  her  purchase ;  and  he  was 
about  to  return  unrecognized,  when  the  lady, 
looking  full  into  his  face  for  the  first  time, 
exclaimed,  "  Philip  Landon,  is  it  you  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it  is,"  he  faltered. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Can  it  be  Philip  ?  Come 
in,  my  dear  boy  ;  come  in." 

Such  a  word  of  kindness  had  not  fallen  upon 
Philip's  ear  for  many  long  days.  For  a 
moment  he  was  nearly  overcome ;  but  so  com- 


MARKET-  GARDENING.  125 

pletely  had  the  bondage  which  had  been  eating 
into  his  soul  gained  power  over  him,  that,  after 
a  momentary  struggle,  he  replied,  "  I  can't,  Mrs. 
Hamilton.  I  have  my  berries  to  sell,  and  must 
get  home  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  You  must  come  in,"  she  replied.  "  I  will 
take  all  the  berries  you  have.  You  must,  for 
your  mother's  sake,  come  in  for  a  few  moments, 
at  least." 

Philip  hesitated.  It  seemed  impossible  for 
him  to  go  into  Mrs.  Hamilton's  beautiful  home, 
just  such  a  home  as  his  own  used  to  be,  in  his 
sordid  garments,  and  with  the  stain  of  his 
traffic  deeply  dyed  in  his  hands.  But  Mrs. 
Hamilton  insisted ;  and,  going  to  fasten  his 
horse,  and  bring  the  remainder  of  his  fruit 
from  his  forlorn  little  cart,  he  entered. 

His  business  accomplished,  Mrs.  Hamilton 
then  drew  from  him  the  history  of  his  past 
year.  The  removal  of  the  pressure  of  his 
petty  traffic  from  his  mind,  and  the  strange  and 


126  LINSIDE  FARM. 

novel  sensations  that  crowded  upon  him,  pro- 
duced a  giddy  and  faint  feeling  that  showed 
itself  in  his  chano-ing  color.  Mrs.  Hamilton 

o       o 

laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  asked  him, 
"  Are  you  sick,  Philip  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sick,"  he  replied,  gasping.  "  I 
shall  go  home  and  get  my  breakfast  soon,  and 
then  I  shall  be  all  right  again.  I  always  get 
tired  and  faint  before  I  get  home,"  he  added 
with  a  ghastly  smile. 

"  You  left  home  early,  did  you  ?  "  she  asked  : 
"  and  without  breakfast  ?  " 

"  Four  o'clock.  There's  nobody  up  to  get 
me  any  breakfast  then." 

"  And  now  it  is  near  nine,"  she  answered, 
glancing  at  her  watch.  "  Ann,"  she  called, 
opening  a  door,  "  bring  in  a  tray  with  some  hot 
coffee  and  biscuits,  and -a  nice  slice  of  steak,  as 
soon  as  you  can  get  it  ready.  It's  a  shame,  a 
shame  !  "  she  added,  returning  from  the  kitchen- 
door,  with  a  glass  of  water  for  Philip.  "  What 
does  Capt.  Reeves  think  ?  " 


MARKET-GARDENING.  127 

"  I  suppose  he  don't  think  any  thing  about  it. 
He  says  if  I  am  sharp  for  business  I  can  get 
home  by  breakfast-time.  But  I  suppose  I'm 
not  sharp,  for  I  hardly  ever  do.  But  I  ought 
not  to  stay,  Mrs.  Hamilton.  The  captain  says 
I  must  always  come  right  home  when  I  get 
through,  and  make  out  a  day's  work." 

"  You  ought  to  stay,  and  you  are  going  to," 
she  answered  with  a  kind  smile.  <k  I  have 
hurried  you  through  this  morning;  and  this 
once  you  must  do  as  I  say,  for  your  mother's 
sake." 

Philip  could  not  resist  Mrs.  Hamilton's  affec- 
tionate appeal ;  and,  in  about  fifteen  minutes, 
Ann  appeared  with  a  cup  of  smoking  hot  coffee 
and  a  plentiful  breakfast,  to  which  Philip  added 
the  sauce  of  a  famished  boy's  appetite.  Mrs. 
Hamilton,  meanwhile,  heaped  for  him  a  saucer 
of  strawberries,  saying,  as  she  placed  them 
before  him,  "  May  be  you  are  tired  of  these." 

"  I  am  a  little  tired  of  picking  and  handling 


128  LINSIDE  FARM. 

them  ;  and  I  did  have  a  nice  saucer-full  the 
other  day." 

"  One  ?  "  she  asked.     "  One  this  season  ?  " 

"  Yes.  They  are  money,  you  know,  to 
Capt.  Reeves." 

Mrs.  Hamilton  made  no  comments,  but  added 
a  new  supply,  as  she  saw  the  contents  of 
Philip's  saucer  rapidly  disappearing. 

At  length  he  was  thoroughly  refreshed,  and 
at  once  prepared  for  departure,  with  many 
thanks  to  Mrs.  Hamilton  for  her  kindness. 

"  It  has  been  almost  like  a  visit  from  my 
mother,"  he  added,  his  voice  shaking  a  little, 
before  he  quite  finished  the  sentence. 

"  Come  to  me  with  your  marketing  as  often 
as  you  please,  Philip,"  she  replied,  "  and  I  and 
my  neighbors  will  be  glad  to  buy  of  you.  And 
especially,  my  dear  boy,  come  to  me  if  you  are 
ever  in  any  trouble.  Good-by." 

Philip  laid  his  sunburnt  and  stained  hand  in 
Mrs.  Hamilton's  soft  white  one,  extended  for  a 


MARKET-  GARDENING  129 

» 

parting  grasp,  and  then  turned  away  and  sprang 
on  his  cart,  pulled  up  his  horse's  nose  from  the 
ground,  and  started  for  home. 

The  streets  of  Chesterfield  seemed  radiant. 
He  began  to  wonder  why  he  had  dreaded  meet- 
ing those  who  might  know  him,  and  even 
glanced  about  with  the  hope  rather  than  the 
fear  of  seeing  some  other  familiar  face. 

Day  by  day,  the  season  through,  Philip  had 
regularly  brought  home  to  the  captain,  and  had 
seen  counted  over,  the  results  of  his  traffic. 
The  fluctuations  of  the  market  gave  a  wide 
margin  as  to  the  returns  the  captain  might 
expect ;  but  Philip  would  have  rejected  with 
scorn  any  temptation  to  keep  back  a  part  of 
the  gains  that  belonged  to  his  master.  Yet  the 
desire  daily  grew  upon  him  to  be  earning  for 
himself;  and  the  period  which  he  had  still  to 
look  forward  to  as  belonging  to  his  master 
seemed  rather  to  lengthen  than  to  diminish. 
His  interviews  with  Mrs.  Hamilton  strength- 
9 


130  LINSIDE  FARM. 

ened  this  feeling,  by  bringing  vividly  before 
him  the  wide  chasm  that  lay  between  his 
present  and  his  former  life,  which  money  would 
have  helped  him  to  bridge  over,  by  enabling 
him  sometimes  to  make  a  more  respectable 
appearance.  So,  at  least,  he  fancied.  "  I  must 
have  money!"  he  thought,  as,  day  after  day,  he 
passed  and  repassed  on  his  homely  errand, 
stopping  now  and  then  to  receive  the  kind 
greeting  of  his  mother's  friend. 

"  I  must  have  money  !  I  must  and  will !  " 
he  grew  into  the  habit  of  saying  before  the 
summer  ended.  The  feeling  of  complete 
isolation  from  his  fellows,  especially  from  all  he 
had  known  and  been  associated  with  from  his 
boyhood,  the  feeling  that  kept  him  at  rest, 
though  it  was  a  stupefying  rest,  in  his 
secluded  work  in  the  woods  during  the  win- 
ter, and  comparatively  content  with  the  kind 
and  the  amount  of  food  and  raiment  that 
fell  to  his  lot,  was  gone.  In  its  place  was  a 


MARKET-  GARDENING.  131 

realization  of  the  social  bonds  and  the  social 
needs  that  create  such  a  ceaseless  demand  for 
money,  which,  according  to  the  proverb, 
"  answereth  all  things  •  "  the  "  all  things," 
however,  to  be  taken  with  its  proper  limita- 
tions. But  as  neither  time  nor  raw  material 
upon  which  to  labor  was  at  his  command,  he 
tried  in  vain  to  devise  some  way  in  which  his 
wishes  might  be  realized,  yet  with  no  diminu- 
tion of  the  earnestness  of  those  wishes. 

No  word  of  religious  instruction  ever  came 
to  Philip's  ears.  The  captain's  family  never 
attended  church  on  Sabbath,  and  only  public 
custom  restrained  them  from  pursuing  their 
accustomed  employments  on  that  day  ;  yet 
Philip  had  retained  a  recollection  of  his 
mother's  regard  for  its  sacredness,  that  imposed 
upon  him  a  slight  restraint.  But,  for  want  of 
other  employment,  he  had  betaken  himself  to  a 
habit  of  idle  strolling.  Away  through  the 
woods,  or  up  and  down  the  beautiful  creek,  he 


132  LINSIDE  FARM. 

wandered,  passing  away  the  Sabbath  hours, 
sometimes  accompanied  by  Jerome  or  by 
Pauly. 

One  Sabbath  morning,  near  the  end  of 
August,  Philip  crept  slowly  up  the  back  stairs 
to  his  room,  preparatory  to  his  usual  stroll.  As 
he  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs,  the  sound  of 
the  sweet  Sabbath  bells  came  floating  in  at  the 
open  window.  He  had  heard  them  many  time*, 
before,  but  had  given  them  but  little  heed. 
Had  he  been  so  disposed,  he  could  easily  have 
walked  the  two  miles  that  lay  between  him  and 
town,  and  been  refreshed  and  instructed,  week 
after  week,  by  the  services  of  God's  house,  and 
the  Bible-lessons  of  the  Sabbath  school.  B'lt, 
till  that  morning,  no  desire  to  do  so  had  ever 
crossed  his  mind. 

That  morning  he  wished  he  could  go : 
not  from  a  wish  for  instruction,  not  from 
a  desire  to  worship ;  for,  from  month  to 
to  month,  scarcely  a  thought  of  God  or  of  his 


MARKET-  GARDENING.  133 

soul  ever  entered  the  mind  of  the  boy.  He 
who  had  been  taught  in  his  childhood  that  only 
by  taking  heed  unto  his  way,  according  to  the 
word  of  God,  could  a  young  man  be  kept  from 
sin  or  guided  into  righteousness,  had  come  to 
have  scarcely  a  thought  of  any  thing  further 
than  to  "  live  honorably  ; "  that  is,  to  be  above 
stealing,  and  all  manner  of  deception  and  base- 
ness, and  this  only  because  it  was  good  policy, 
as  means  to  the  end  of  acquiring  property, 
which  he  was  fast  learning  to  believe  was  the 
chief  end  of  man. 

But,  that  morning,  the  wish  came  upon  him, 
with  overpowering  strength,  to  go  once  more  to 
church,  and  to  spend  the  day  as  he  had  been 
accustomed  before  his  home  was  broken  up.  It 
was  only  a  yearning  home-sickness  that  pro- 
duced the  wish.  The  kindness  of  Mrs.  Ham- 
ilton, and  of  others  whom  she  had  influenced, 
had  opened  a  secret  chamber  in  his  heart,  that 
he  had  supposed  was  closed  forever.  But  with 


134  L1NSIDE  FARM. 

the  wish  to  go  came  also  the  recollection  of  its 
impossibility,  for  want  of  such  clothing  as  he 
would  be  willing  to  appear  in  among  those  he 
would  there  meet.  He  had  his  last  summer's 
suit,  which  Capt.  Reeves  would  without  hesita- 
tion have  pronounced  good  enough  to  wear  any- 
where. But,  as  Philip  tried  it  on,  and  thrust 
his  hands  above  his  wrists  through  the  sleeves 
of  the  out-grown  coat,  and  then  drew  it  around 
his  stoutening  figure,  he  at  once  pronounced  it 
impossible ;  and  again  came  up  the  absorbing 
wish  for  money,  money,  money. 

Turning  over  the  contents  of  his  trunk,  he 
came,  at  length,  to  a  small  box,  stored  carefully 
away  in  the  corner,  at  the  very  bottom. 
Opening  it,  he  looked  intently  at  the  gold 
watch  which  his  father  on  his  death-bed  had 
placed  in  his  hands  ;  the  watch  that  had  been  his 
father's  timekeeper  for  years,  and  whose  prompt- 
ings he  had  always  punctually  obeyed.  Philip 
had  had  a  lurking  though  unfounded  suspicion, 


MARKET-  GARDENING.  135 

that,  if  Capt.  Reeves  had  known  of  the  watch 
being  in  his  possession,  he  would  have  con- 
trived some  way  to  establish  a  claim  to  it  for 
himself.  Therefore  he  had  kept  it  carefully 
concealed  in  his  trunk,  scarcely  ever  allowing 
himself  to  look  at  the  precious  memento.  Now, 
however,  he  looked  at  it  long  and  earnestly. 
Was  he  reckoning  its  value  ?  Was  he  thinking 
of  selling  it  ?  Was  he  thinking  of  the  clothes 
it  would  buy,  and  the  outward  respectability  it 
would  confer  ?  Yes  :  all  that  passed  delib- 
erately through  his  mind ;  and  then  he  laid  it 
back  in  its  case,  with  a  resolute  "  No,  never !  " 
One  by  one,  other  articles  of  less  value 
received  his  attentive  consideration,  till,  at  last, 
from  among  his  books  he  selected  a  complete 
set  for  the  study  of  Latin,  as  far  as  he  had  pro- 
gressed, except  the  grammar  which  the  captain 
had  destroyed ;  and,  piling  them  together,  he  laid 
them  out.  He  wrapped  them  carefully  in  a 
paper,  tied  up  the  bundle,  and  started  towards 


136  LINSIDE  FARM. 

the  door  with  it  under  his  arm.  Something 
crossed  his  mind  that  made  him  hesitate ;  and, 
turning  back,  he  laid  the  bundle  in  his  trunk, 
locked  it  again,  and  slipped  the  key  in  hi& 
pocket.  He  then  went  down  stairs  and  out  at 
the  door  with  quite  a  business-like  air. 

He  had  gone  but  a  few  steps  when  he  heard 
Pauly 's  voice  calling  him  ;  and,  looking  back, 
she  was  running  after  him,  her  golden  hair 
falling  about  her  shoulders. 

Philip  stopped  a  moment  to  wait  for  her,  and 
then  said,  "  Pauly,  you  had  better  not  go  with 
me  this  time.  I  am  going  too  far  for  you." 

He  had  never  refused  her  company  before ; 
and  for  a  moment  the  child  looked  surprised  and 
grieved. 

"  You  would  be  too  tired,  Pauly,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  If  I  get  back  in  time,  I  will  take 
you  out  by  the  creek  before  sunset ;  and  that 
will  be  better,  won't  it  ?  " 

Pauly   stood   for  a   few  moments  irresolute, 


MARKET -GARDENING.  137 

and  then  turned  slowly  back  ;  while  Philip  went 
on,  looking  over  his  shoulder  now  and  then  at 
the  retreating  little  figure,  regretting  the 
necessity  that  compelled  him  to  deprive  himself 
of  her  sprightly  company. 

Philip  took  the  familiar  woods-road  that  led 
to  the  scene  of  his  last  winter's  work.  From 
the  wood-lot,  he  struck  off  on  the  opposite  side, 
following,  as  nearly  as  he  could  remember, 
without  having  had  particular  directions,  the 
way  towards  Mr.  White's  schoolhouse  and 
home.  A  little  uncertain  rambling  brought 
him  to  a  lonely  building  with'  closed  white  shut- 
ters and  locked  door,  evidently  a  schoolhouse, 
and  near  it  a  small  dwelling,  which  Philip  was 
sure  could  be  no  other  than  the  home  of  Mr. 
White  and  his  mother.  The  doors  were 
closed,  and  the  curtains  down.  "  Gone  to 
church.  I  might  have  known  it,"  said  Philip. 
Yet,  to  make  himself  sure,  he  knocked  at  the 
door.  Receiving  no  response,  he  had  plenty  of 


138  LINSIDE  FARM. 

leisure  to  look  about  him.  He  paced  up  and 
down  the  neatly-kept  walk,  with  its  bordering 
of  gay  flowers,  and  then  wandered  away  a  little 
distance,  and  threw  himself  on  the  grass  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree  to  await  their  return.  It  was 
already  near  noon,  so  that  Philip  had  not  long 
to  wait  before  they  appeared.  Satisfied  then 
that  there  would  be  no  failure  in  his  purpose 
to  see  Mr.  White,  he  lingered  in  the  woods  at 
least  an  hour,  waiting  till  they  should  have 
taken  dinner,  and  hoping  also  that  Mr.  White 
might  appear  alone,  and  save  him  the  necessity 
of  going  to  the  house.  At  length  he  sum- 
moned courage  to  knock. 

Nothing  could  have  been  kinder  than  the 
greeting  with  which  he  was  received  both  by 
mother  and  son.  Yet  Philip  felt  too  shy  to 
introduce  his  real  errand.  After  half  an  hour 
or  more  of  rambling  talk,  Mrs.  White  left  the 
room,  and  Philip  then  made  bold  to  mention 
his  errand,  which  was  no  other  than  to  offer 


MARKET-  GARDENING.  139 

for  sale  the  Latin  books  he  had  that  morning 
looked  over.  He  remembered  hearing  Mr. 
White  say  that  he  had  but  lately  commenced 
the  study  of  Latin,  and  was  trying  to  get  on 
alone. 

Mr.  White  replied,  "  I  have  all  the  Latin 
books  I  need  now.  My  great  difficulty  is  want 
of  time  to  study  them.  Why  do  you  wish  to 
sell  them,  Philip  ?  " 

"  I  shall  never  need  them." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  White,  I  am  bound  till  I  am 
twenty-one,  and  then  it  will  be  too  late.  I 
shall  have  to  earn  my  living  then." 

"  You  don't  know  any  thing  about  all  that. 
I  wouldn't  sell  them,  Philip,  unless  —  unless  I 
needed  the  money  for  them  very  much  ;  and  I 
don't  see  why  you  should." 

"  I  do,  Mr.  White.  I  must  have  money ; 
and  I  can't  see  any  other  way  to  get  it.  If  I 
need  the  books  some  other  time,  I  can  get  them 
again." 


140  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  Perhaps.  Yes,  easily,  if  you  have  money, 
But  it  is  always  easier  to  keep  than  to  get.  Sc. 
I  find  it,  and  we've  had  some  experience  in  get- 
ting along,  —  mother  and  I.  I  wouldn't  sell 
them,  Philip." 

"  Mr.  White,  I  must  have  money." 

"  Well,  but  why  ?  Your  boarding  and 
clothing  are  secured.  I  don't  see  why,  unless 
there  is  some  one  dependent  upon  you." 

"  No,"  Philip  replied  :  "  I  am  alone.  But 
then,  Mr.  White,  how  many  things  there  are  a 
boy  wants." 

Philip  felt  himself  breaking  down  in  trying 
to  argue  a  weak  point. 

Mr.  White  replied,  "  Ah,  yes  !  There  are 
many  things  a  boy  wants.  There  would  be  as 
many  more  after  you  had  spent  the  proceeds  of 
your  books." 

Mr.  White  looked  amused,  and  Philip  a  little 
annoyed. 

u  You  think  me  unsympathizing,  I  see,"  he 


MARKRT-  GARDENING.  141 

added.  "  But  I  am  not.  The  truth  is,  Philip, 
I  have  been  through  all  that.  I  have  been 
worse  off  than  you  are ;  for  neither  food  nor 
clothing  was  secured  to  me,  and  my  poor 
mother  was  in  want  too,  which  was  harder  to 
bear  than  all  the  rest." 

"  But,  Mr.  White,  this  is  my  last  summer's 
suit.  I  never  in  my  life  wore  a  suit  two  years 
before." 

Mr.  White  glanced  at  his  own  suit,  evidently 
more  than  two  years  old,  but  replied,  "  All  well 
enough,  if  you  can  manage  ^t;  and  likely 
enough  you  will  again,  some  day.  But  it  is 
not  the  main  thing,  Philip.  I  wouldn't  sell 
useful  books  to  buy  clothes,  until  it  came  to  the 
point  of  sheer  necessity.  Keep  your  books, 
and  use  them  in  snatches,  if  nothing  more. 
At  least,  that  is  my  advice,  as  a  friend.  At  any 
rate,  Philip,  I  am  not  able  to  buy  them  ;  and,  if 
I  were,  I  don't  think  I  could  make  arrange- 
ments for  a  purchase  to-day." 


142  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Philip  felt  the  rebuke,  and  colored.  But  so 
little,  of  late,  had  his  thoughts  on  the  Sabbath 
been  Sabbath  thoughts  and  Sabbath  pursuits, 
that,  in  truth,  it  had  scarcely  occurred  to  him 
that  the  offer  of  a  trade  on  Sabbath  would 
strike  Mr.  White  as  an  impropriety.  Tht 
captain,  he  knew,  made  some  of  his  best  bar- 
gains on  Sunday.  When  held  back  simply  by 
the  force  of  public  opinion  from  his  ordinary 
pursuits,  with  his  mind  comparatively  unoccu- 
pied and  his  time  fully  at  command,  he  could 
sit  on  the  horse-block  or  lie  on  the  grass,  and 
haggle  by  the  hour  over  a  purchase  or  a  sale. 

Philip  found  his  effort  useless,  and  strolled  lei- 
surely homeward,  sometimes  revolving  over  and 
over  the  reasonings  of  his  friend,  but  oftener 
feeling  that  though  he  had  failed  in  that  attempt, 
still,  by  some  means,  he  must  have  money. 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.     143 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

AN    ACCIDENT    AND   ITS    RESULTS. 
i" 

iHILIP'S  visits  to  town  grew  more 
infrequent  as  the  season  advanced,  till 
finally  they  became  reduced  to  occa- 
sional trips  with  a  load  of  cabbages  or 
tomatoes  or  potatoes.  His  labor,  too,  had  been 
more  varied  than  in  the  spring,  as  haying  or 
harvesting  had  made  their  demands.  Finally  a 
heavy  frost  cut  off  all  the  remaining  products 
of  his  garden,  and  his  occupation  in  that 
direction  was  ended.  Then  came  the  fall 
ploughing  and  seeding,  in  which  his  help  was 
needed.  So  the  months  rolled  by,  and  at  length 
brought  again  the  snow  and  the  cold  weather, 
and  he  was  directed  to  resume  his  occupation  in 
the  woods.  It  seemed  less  dreary  to  him  than 


144  LINSIDE  FARM. 

before,  for  he  felt  sure  of  again  meeting  Mr. 
White,  perhaps  frequently.  His  occasional 
interviews  with  Mrs.  Hamilton  and  Mr.  White 
had  aroused  him  to  some  degree  of  mental 
activity,  insomuch  that  he  began  to  realize 
somewhat  the  truth  of  Mr.  White's  saying, 
that  the  outward  work  of  life  is,  after  all,  not  its 
real  precious  element ;  though  the  full  meaning 
of  the  truth,  Philip  had  not  yet  begun  to 
grasp.  Indeed,  of  that  precious  inner  life  of 
faith  in  Christ,  and  communion  with  God  the 
Father  through  him,  that  was  to  his  friend  the 
very  life  of  life,  he  knew  absolutely  nothing. 
But  he  had  some  food  for  thought.  He  had 
awakened  to  the  fact  that  he  was  not  wholly  cut 
off  from  all  the  former  associations  of  life,  and 
that  some  time  all  those  associations  might  be 
fully  restored,  and  form  anew  the  staple  of  his 
existence. 

So,  with  his  axe  on  his  shoulder,  he  betook 
himself,  one  bright  morning  in  November,  to  the 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.     145 

little  clearing  in  the  woods.  There  was  snow 
on  the  ground,  but  not  a  fresh,  clean,  pure 
snow,  as  when,  a  year  ago,  he  had  ridden  on  the 
wagon-rack,  with  his  face  towards  Chesterfield, 
a  silent  companion  of  his  silent  master.  Now 
he  was  alone  and  afoot :  but  he  went  whistling 
cheerily  along,  turning  aside  now  and  then  to 
avoid  the  muddy  places  ;  for  a  few  sunny  days, 
and  the  passing  of  wheels,  and  the  trampling  of 
horses,  had  transformed  the  glittering  white  into 
an  unsightly  mixture. 

Much  of  his  work  lay  as  he  had  left  it  in  the 
spring, — the  last  log  partly  cut  up,  the  beech 
stump  upon  which  Mr.  White  had  counted  the 
rings  ;  but,  instead  of  the  freshly-bursting  buds 
and  springing  verdure,  lay  a  mass  of  brown 
and  withered  leaves  and  bleaching  stalks,  bear- 
ing witness  to  the  immense  work  that  had  been 
carried  on  in  the  depths  of  the  forest,  —  works 
wherein  the  Lord  had  rejoiced,  though  no  eye 

of  man  had  taken  note  of  their  silent  majesty. 
10 


146  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Capt.  Reeves  knew  just  how  the  work  lay, 
and  had  given  Philip  directions  accordingly. 
The  piles  of  cord- wood  had  disappeared.  They 
had  all  been  turned  into  money  in  the  course  of 
the  summer ;  but "  none  of  it  for  me,"  thought 
Philip. 

He  commenced  upon  the  felled  beech-log 
that  lay  upon  the  ground,  cutting  off  a  length 
just  next  the  last  he  had  cut  six  months  before. 
The  brisk  exercise  in  the  bracing  air  seemed 
cheery  after  those  dismally  weary  rides  back 
and  forth  that  had  made  up  the  dull  monotony 
of  his  summer.  He  worked  with  a  hearty  good 
will,  till  the  shadows  fell  straight  northward  ; 
then  took  his  nooning,  ate  his  lunch,  and  took 
up  his  axe  again.  He  had  scarcely  given  half 
a  dozen  blows,  when  he  missed  his  stroke,  and 
by  some  means  received  its  force,  though  par- 
tially spent,  in  the  side  of  his  foot.  Through 
his  coarse  boot,  and  into  the  quivering  flesh, 
the  keen  edge  penetrated,  and  Philip  dropped 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.     147 

to  the  ground.  Recovering  himself  as  speedily 
as  possible,  he  raised  his  head  to  see  the  blood 
pouring  from  a  ghastly  wound.  Pulling  off  his 
boot  with  difficulty,  he  bound  up  his  foot  tightly 
with  his  handkerchief,  and  partially  stopped  the 
bleeding.  But  in  a  moment  it  was  saturated, 
and  what  to  do  then,  was  the  question.  To 
draw  on  his  boot  again  was  impossible  ;  and  a 
mile  of  soft  snow  and  mud  lay  between  him 
and  home.  Knowing  that  the  sooner  he 
reached  home  the  better,  he  tightened  the 
bandage  as  well  as  he  could,  and,  shouldering 
his  axe,  started  on  his  weary  walk. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  half-mile  he  was 
nearly  ready  to  faint  ;  but,  after  a  short  rest,  he 
cut  a  stout  stick  to  lean  upon,  and  set  out  again. 
The  pain  in  his  wounded  foot  became  intense, 
his  resting-places  more  and  more  frequent ;  till, 
after  a  protracted  effort  of  near  two  hours,  he 
at  length  staggered  into  the  yard,  leaving  his 
footprint  at  every  step,  and  fell  fainting  on  the 
porch. 


148  LINSIDE  FARM. 

For  once,  Philip  became  a  centre  of  interest 
to  the  entire  household.  Jerome  was  driven 
from  the  lounge  in  the  dining-room  upon  which 
he  spent  the  greater  portion  of  his  time,  and 
Pauly  looked  on  with  sympathizing  interest 
while  Mrs.  Reeves  dressed  the  cut.  Even  Miss 
Sophy,  hearing  a  commotion,  thrust  her  head  in 
from  the  parlor,  with  her  hair  in  crimpers  to  be 
ready  for  evening  visitors,  and  nearly  fainted  at 
the  sight  of  blood.  Capt.  Reeves  came  in,  in 
the  midst  of  the  excitement,  exclaimed 
"  Hello  ! "  as  he  comprehended  the  case,  looked 
at  the  wound,  and,  quietly  remarking,  "A  three- 
months'  job,"  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked 
way. 

Philip  was  too  much  exhausted  to  compre- 
hend at  once  the  consequences  of  his  misfor- 
tune. A  swiftly  passing  thought  of  three 
months  alone  in  his  dismal  room  followed  the 
captain's  remark.  Then  the  pain  and  weak- 
ness asserted  their  dominion  again.  But  Philip 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.     149 

need  not  have  dreaded  the  trial,  at  least  not  in 
the  way  he  did  ;  for  Capt.  and  Mrs.  Reeves 
were  not  cruel,  although,  in  general,  unfeeling 
and  selfish,  and  entirely  out  of  sympathy  with 
Philip's  gentle  and  refined  ways,  because  wholly 
absorbed  in  their  own  pursuits.  Mrs.  Reeves, 
especially,  in  view  of  pain  and  helplessness, 
became  transformed  at  once  into  a  sympathizing 
and  motherly  nurse.  Never,  since  the  death 
of  his  own  mother,  had  Philip  felt  himself  so 
tenderly  cared  for,  as  while  he  lay  on  that 
lounge,  with  Mrs.  Reeves  attending  to  his 
wants. 

"  Only  to  think ! "  she  would  say  now  and 
then  :  "  the  poor  boy  had  to  walk  a  mile  with 
such  a  foot  as  that !  How  did  you  ever  do  it, 
Philip?" 

To  all  which  Philip  would  dreamily  answer, 
"  I  don't  know." 

Mrs.  Reeves  would  not  allow  him  to  go  up 
stairs  the  first  night  after  his  accident,  but  per- 


150  LINSIDE  FARM. 

sonally  attended  to  his  wants  just  where  he  lay. 
Philip  was  only  too  glad  to  be  spared  the  exer- 
tion, and  to  feel  besides  that  somebody  was 
really  interested  in  his  well-being,  though  it 
were  only  on  account  of  a  temporary  disability. 
So  all  night  long  he  lay,  sometimes  sleeping 
lightly,  sometimes  awake  with  the  pain  in  the 
wounded  foot,  and  repeating  to  himself  dream- 
ily, now  and  then,  "A  three-months'  job." 

In  a  few  days  he  recovered  from  his  weak- 
ness and  exhaustion,  so  that  he  could  hop  about 
the  floor ;  and  then  Pauly  produced  for  him, 
from  among  some  garret  rubbish,  a  discarded 
crutch  of  Jerome's,  thrown  aside  when  he 
adopted  the  one  with  the  iron  rest  for  his  foot. 
With  the  help  of  that,  Philip  found  he  could 
go  about  with  a  good  degree  of  ease  and  com- 
fort. He  soon  managed  to  crawl  up  stairs  ;  and, 
opening  his  trunk,  there  lay  the  parcel  of  Latin 
books  still  wrapped  and  tied  up,  just  as  he  had 
laid  them  down  on  the  day  of  his  unsuccessful 
trip  to  Mr.  White's. 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.     151 

'*  I  know  what  I  would  do :  I'd  study !  " 
Philip  had  said  to  Jerome  some  months  before, 
as  they  had  discussed  in  the  woods  Jerome's 
disabled  condition. 

"  I  wonder  if  the  captain  wouldn't  let  me 
study  now  ?  "  was  Philip's  first  thought,  as  his 
eye  fell  upon  the  parcel  of  books.  Opening 
the  bundle,  and  turning  the  leaves  of  one  book 
after  another,  he  was  surprised  to  see  with  what 
clearness  his  former  stock  of  knowledge  came 
back  to  him.  He  had  supposed  it  lost  entirely. 
The  truth  was,  that  the  entire  rest  which  had 
been  forced  upon  him,  and  the  season  of  weak- 
ness and  exhaustion  he  had  passed  through, 
had  cleared  up  his  mental  vision.  The  dul- 
ness  produced  by  incessant  bodily  fatigue  passed 
away  like  a  cloud,  and  he  again  felt  like  his 
former  self. 

He  stood  looking  over  one  after  another  of 
his  books,  and  recalling  one  point  after  another, 
till  sharp  twinges  of  pain  iri  his  wounded  foot 


152  LINSIDE  FARM. 

reminded  him  that  he  was  over-fatiguing  him- 
self. Then,  taking  one  or  two  books  under  his 
arm,  he  hobbled  slowly  down  stairs,  looking 
wistfully,  as  he  passed  the  window,  at  Chester- 
field, at  his  old  home;  but  dwelling  with  a 
lingering  gaze  on  its  elegant  High-School  build- 
ing, standing  on  its  beautiful  eminence,  and 
reflecting  back  the  gay  sunlight  to  him  as 
mockingly  as  if  it  had  been  the  very  temple  of 
fame  he  had  seen  in  old  school-books,  perched 
on  a  dreary  and  inaccessible  height 

"  Now  you're  just  a-going  to  tire  yourself  to 
death  with  them  books ;  and  your  foot  will 
never  get  well  in  the  world  if  you  do,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Reeves,  as  he  appeared.  But  he 
was  already  tired  enough  to  throw  them  down, 
and  drop  upon  the  lounge  without  opening 
them.  He  soon  rallied ;  and,  when  the  captain 
came  in  at  night,  he  was  so  deeply  absorbed 
that  he  scarcely  looked  up. 

"  Studying  ?  "  said  the  captain.     "  That's  a 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.     153 

good  idea.  It's  a  very  good  time  to  study 
now,  when  you  can't  be  doing  any  thing  else. 
By  the  way,  I'm  bound  to  give  you  three 
months'  schooling  this  winter,  and  you  are  laid 
up  from  work  for  some  time  now.  You  may 
go  to  school  as  soon  as  you  are  able  to  hobble 
there." 

,"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  said  Philip,  so  much 
overcome  with  surprise  and  joy  that  he  scarcely 
knew  what  he  said. 

But  the  captain  did  not  wait  for  thanks.  He 
had  given  his  orders  and  passed  on,  not  having 
a  shadow  of  an  idea  of  the  joy  he  had  given 
Philip  ;  thinking,  rather,  that  he  had  laid  upon 
him  a  heavy  task. 

Philip's  mind  ran  forward  in  joyful  anticipa- 
tion, as  he  pictured  to  himself  the  bright  career 
that  lay  before  him.  He  fancied  himself 
already  within  the  walls  of  the  school-building 
towards  which,  but  a  few  hours  before,  he  had 
looked  with  vague  longing.  It  was  true,  the 


154  LINSIDE  FARM, 

classes  with  which  he  had  formerly  ranked 
would  be  so  far  in  advance  that  he  could  never 
hope  to  overtake  them.  It  was  true  that 
between  him  and  his  task  lay  a  stretch  of  two 
miles.  It  was  true  that  he  had  in  prospect  but 
three  months  in  which  to  enjoy  the  golden 
privilege.  But  to  his  excited  imagination  at 
that  moment  all  difficulties  looked  small. 

"How  does  your  foot  get  along ?  "  asked  the 
captain,  returning. 

"  Oh,  splendidly !  I  think  I  can  walk  pretty 
well  on  my  crutch  by  next  week." 

"  Walk  !     Where  do  you  expect  to  go  ?  " 

"  Didn't  you  speak  of  my  going  to  school  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  forgot  about  that.  I  didn't 
think  you'd  be  in  any  hurry  to  start :  thought 
you'd  enjoy  lying  around  with  nothing  to  do. 
But  mind  you,  it  is  a  good  long  walk  to  go  to 
school.  A  mile  and  a  quarter,  at  least." 

"  two  miles,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  No  :  a  little  over  a  mile.  Just  beyond  the 
wood-lot." 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.     155 

"  Oh  !  I  was  thinking  of  town." 

"  You  were,  were  you  ?  You've  got  yom 
ideas  up  again.  No:  you  will  go  to  Mr. 
White,  over  beyond  the  wood-lot.  You  can 
start  whenever  you  are  able  to  walk  there  with- 
out hurting  yourself." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Capt.  Reeves  did  not  notice  the  shade  of  dis- 
appointment that  passed  over  Philip's  face.  It 
would  have  made  no  difference  with  him  if  he 
had.  Neither  did  Philip  venture  a  word  of 
remonstrance.  He  knew  too  well  that  Capt. 
ReeT'es's  word  was  law.  But  he  thought  over 
and  over  to  himself,  "  I  am  afraid  Mr.  White 
cannot  carry  me  on  in  Latin.  What  can  he  do 
for  me,  I  wonder  ?  " 

Well  he  might  wonder.  In  this,  as  in  many 
other  steps  of  his  life,  God  was  leading  him  by  a 
way  that  he  knew  not.  To  carry  out  his  fa- 
ther i  idea  of  life  would  have  been  Philip's 
hig)  ^st  ambition.  To  be  a  good  scholar,  then 


156  L1NSIDE  FARM. 

to  deal  honestly,  honorably  among  men,  to  ac« 
cumulate  property,  —  these  would  have  satis- 
fied him  ;  these  would  have  filled  and  rounded 
out  his  plan  of  life.  But  God's  thought  for 
him  was  higher. 

The  intense  desire  for  the  possession  of 
money,  that  had  been  produced  in  Philip's  mind 
by  the  occupations  of  the  previous  summer,  had 
subsided  into  a  cool  determination  that  would 
bide  its  time,  but  that  must,  sooner  or  later,  be 
gratified.  The  restless  thirst  had  faded  out 
under  the  difficulties  that  lay  in  his  way  ;  and 
now,  the  same  impetuosity  of  temperament  that 
then  agitated  him  in  that  direction  promised  to 
give  him  some  help  in  the  accomplishment  of 
his  winter's  work  as  a  student. 

The  next  week  found  Philip  making  his  way 
with  difficulty  and  with  much  fatigue  to  the 
door  of  Mr.  White's  schoolroom.  It  was  early 
enough  to  give  him  the  opportunity  he  desired, 
of  a  few  moments'  talk  with  Mr.  White  before 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.     157 

school-exercises  commenced.  The  circumstances 
that  brought  him  there  were  soon  explained, 
and  Philip's  standing  as  a  scholar  was  also 
ascertained  ;  and  he  was  both  surprised  and 
gratified  to  find,  that,  though  Mr.  White  was, 
as  he  had  himself  informed  Philip,  no  Latin 
scholar,  yet  he  was  thoroughly  at  home  among 
mathematical  studies,  far  beyond  what  Philip 
would  require  for  a  long  time,  and  was,  more- 
over, as  he  had  already  given  proof,  an  enthu- 
siast in  various  branches  of  natural  science. 
There  was  something  about  him  which  at  once 
inspired  Philip  with  confidence  in  him  as  an  in- 
structor, and  which  also  whetted,  to  its  keenest 
edge,  Philip's  long-delayed  appetite  for  the  pur- 
suit of  study. 

But  with  one  step  of  his  progress  in  entering 
upon  the  exercises  of  the  day,  Philip  found  him- 
self out  of  sympathy.  As  soon  as  the  hour  had 
arrived  for  order  and  business,  Mr.  White 
opened  a  Bible  that  lay  on  his  desk,  and  read,  — 


158  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,  and 
the  firmament  showeth  his  handiwork.  Day 
unto  day  uttereth  speech,  and  night  unto  night 
showeth  knowledge;"  and  on  through  the  beau- 
tiful psalm.  He  had  then  offered  fervent 
prayer,  that,  while  they  (he  and  his  pupils) 
were  occupied  in  studying  those  various  depart- 
ments of  Nature  which  declare  the  glory  of 
God,  they  might  not  be  unmindful  of  that  per- 
fect law  of  his  which  enters  within  the  soul, 
regulating  its  inmost  thoughts  and  most  hidden 
exercises ;  and  that  all  their  words  and  thoughts 
might  be  made  acceptable  in  the  sight  of  the 
Lord  through  the  Redeemer. 

Philip  had  heard  few  prayers  since  the  last 
night  his  mother  knelt  by  his  bedside,  and 
sought  the  blessing  of  God  upon  him.  For 
over  a  year,  not  a  word  of  prayer  had  been 
uttered  in  his  hearing  ;  and  he  had  even  him- 
self dropped  the  habit  of  his  childhood,  and  had 
nightly  laid  his  head  upon  a  prayerless  pillow. 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.      L59 

A  year  without  pi*ayer  !  without  the  slightest 
recognition  of  God's  abounding  goodness,  or  the 
faintest  cry  for  his  favor,  though  all  the  while 
the  object  of  undeserved  mercies,  and  dependent 
for  the  very  breath  of  life !  And  so  it  was,  that 
morning,  that  the  sweet  psalm  was  unappre- 
ciated, and  the  prayer  passed  by  as  a  necessary 
form  ;  and  then  the  business  of  study  com- 
menced. 

It  was  well  for  Philip  that  he  was  disabled. 
Though  it  caused  him  a  laborious  and  painful 
effort  to  walk  with  his  crutch  from  home  to 
school  and  return,  yet,  had  it  not  been  for  his 
lameness,  his  night  and  morning  hours  would 
have  been  carefully  appropriated  by  the  watch- 
ful eye  of  his  master,  who  was  as  exacting  in 
the  economy  of  time  as  in  his  care  that  no  atom 
of  his  substance  should  go  to  waste.  His  duty 
toward  Philip  he  considered  amply  fulfilled  by 
the  liberty  afforded  him  to  go  to  school  day  by 
day,  without  any  sympathy  or  encouragement 


160  LINSIDE  FARM. 

beyond*  But  in  the  preparation  of  his  allotted 
tasks,  Philip  found  ample  occupation  for  his 
night  and  morning  hours  ;  and,  in  consequence 
of  his  disability,  he  was,  in  fact,  as  free  from 
his  master's  iron  rule,  during  those  three  months, 
as  if  he  had  been  in  his  own  home  and  under 
the  eye  of  his  affectionate  father ;  though  this 
was  the  utmost  that  could  be  said.  As  for  any 
word  of  encouragement,  or  assistance  in  any 
difficulty,  or  share  in  his  keen  enjoyment  of  the 
knowledge  he  was  acquiring,  he  might  as  well 
have  lived  in  a  hermit's  cave. 

Jerome  looked  on  idly  while  Philip  contin- 
ued his  exertions.  There  was  no  obstacle  in 
his  way.  There  was  no  limit  of  three  months 
set  to  his  opportunity  for  acquisition  ;  yet  Philip 
had  despaired  in  his  efforts  to  inspire  him  with  a 
desire  for  improvement. 

The  brief  three  months  sped  rapidly  away. 
How  rapidly  !  Before  it  was  ended,  Philip's 
crutch  was  laid  aside,  and  his  wounded  foot  was 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.     161 

healed.  Yet  he  had  so  firmly  established  him- 
self in  his  habits  of  study,  and  the  captain  had 
so  fallen  into  the  way  of  letting  him  alone, 
that  he  was  permitted  to  enjoy  to  the  full  the 
privileges  he  had  so  well  used,  even  to  the 
end. 

On  a  bright  day  in  February,  Mr.  White 
called  to  Philip  to  linger  a  moment,  as  he  was 
leaving  the  schoolroom,  and  proposed  that  he 
should  accompany  him  home.  Philip  accepted 
the  invitation  gladly.  It  was  quite  an  epoch  in 
his  usually  monotonous  life. 

"  I  am  going  away  soon,"  said  Mr.  White 
as  they  started,  "  and  I  would  like  to  feel  a 
little  better  acquainted  with  you  before  we  take 
final  leave  of  one  another." 

"  Are  you  going  away  ?  "  asked  Philip  in 
surprise.  "  My  time  of  coming  to  school  is 
nearly  ended  ;  but  I  did  hope  I  might  see  you 
sometimes  in  the  woods,  if  nowhere  else." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  possibly  you  may.  I  shall  not  go 
11 


162  L1NSIDE  FARM. 

for  some  months  yet.  How  much  longer  do 
you  expect  to  remain  at  Capt.  Reeves's  ?  " 

"  Till  I  am  twenty-one." 

"  Then  you  expect  to  be  a  farmer,  of 
course." 

"•  I  don't  know.  I  did  not  realize  what  it 
was  to  be  bound  when  I  gave  my  consent  to  it ; 
but  I'm  in  for  it  now,  and  I  don't  mean  to 
flinch." 

"  No,  certainly  not.  The  only  point  now 
is  to  do  your  utmost,  to  make  the  most  of  your- 
self that  you  can." 

"  So  father  used  to  tell  me.  But  I  think  his 
ideas  were  a  little  higher  than  Capt.  Reeves's." 

"  How  high  were  they  ?  " 

Philip  looked  up  with  some  surprise  at  Mr. 
White,  scarcely  comprehending  his  question. 
Mr.  White  smiled,  but  simply  repeated,  "  Yes : 
how  high  were  they  ?  I  mean  just  that." 

"  I  never  saw  any  one  that  had  a  higher 
sense  of  honorable  dealing  than  he  had," 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.     163 

replied  Philip  with  a  glowing  countenance. 
44  He  would  sooner  have  lost  a  hundred  dollars 
than  to  have  cheated  a  poor  man  out  of  one,  I 
do  believe." 

44  Very  just,"  replied  Mr.  White. 

44  Just !  "  exclaimed  Philip.  44 1  should  say 
more  than  that.  I  didn't  put  it  dollar  for 
dollar,  but  a  hundred  to  one." 

44  You  put  loss  of  his  own  against  defrauding 
his  fellow.  Wasn't  that  it  ?  Would  not  simple 
justice  decide  any  such  question  as  that,  what- 
ever sum  of  money  might  be  involved  ?  " 

44  Then  you  don't  think  it  any  honor  to  deal 
on  such  principles  ?  " 

4'  I  certainly  think  it  very  honorable  to  deal 
justly.  It  would  be  a  far  better  world  than  it 
is  if  all  would  do  that.  Yet  much  more  is 
required  of  us." 

44  Oh,  yes  !  I  know  that.  Father  always  said 
it  required  a  great  deal  of  knowledge  and 
energy  to  get  along  well.  He  never  had  any 


164  LINSIDE  FARM. 

patience  with  sluggards.  He  always  said  any 
one  who  had  good  health  and  good  habits 
could  get  rich.  He  would  have  brought  his 
business  out  all  right  in  a  few  years,  if  he  could 
have  lived,"  Philip  added,  suddenly  remem- 
bering that  his  father  had  left  a  penniless  boy. 
"  I  suppose  you  don't  know  about  that.  I 
don't,  either.  There  seems  to  be  a  mystery 
about  it.  He  was  doing  a  prosperous  business, 
and  had  plenty ;  and  I  don't  know  what  became 
of  it  all." 

"  But  you  need  not  tell  me  any  further  about 
that  than  you  choose,"  interrupted  Mr.  White. 
"I  had  no  intention  of  inquiring  about  your 
father's  business-affairs.  I  was  trying  to  speak 
of  general  principles." 

"  I  know  that,  Mr.  White.  But  it  seems 
pleasant  to  talk  to  any  one  that  I  know  would 
appreciate  my  father.  You  know  I  don't  have 
any  one  to  talk  with  at  home." 

The  conversation  had  taken  such  a  turn  that 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.     165 

Mr.  White  felt  it  would  be  impossible  to  reach 
the  point  he  had  in  view  at  first  without 
seeming  to  reflect  on  Philip's  father.  He  had 
intended  to  go  on,  step  by  step,  leading  Philip 
to  see  that  the  duties  of  justice  and  honor 
among  men,  be  they  ever  so  well  performed,  are 
not  enough  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  God's 
law  ;  that  the  perfect  fulfilment  even  of  these 
duties  requires  perfect  love  in  the  heart  towards 
our  fellow-men,  and  not  merely  the  perform- 
ance of  outward  actions ;  that  there  is  still 
another  and  a  higher  department  of  God's  law, 
which  lays  down  our  duties  towards  God,  and 
that  this  also  requires  not  only  perfect  outward 
fulfilment,  but  perfect  love  and  acquiescence : 
in  short,  in  the  words  of  the  Psalmist, 
that  though  there  is  an  end,  a  limit  to  all 
human  perfection,  yet,  beyond  all,  the  com- 
mandment of  the  Lord  is  "  exceeding  broad." 

In  Mr.  White's  own  experience,  the  law  of 
God  had  been  his  schoolmaster  to  bring  him  to 


166  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Christ.  It  had  been  under  a.  deep  sense  of 
what  the  law  requires  in  its  length  and 
breadth  and  height  and  depth,  that  his  eyes  had 
been  opened  to  his  own  inability  to  attain  its  per- 
fect fulfilment,  and  to  his  consequent  need  of 
help,  even  the  help  of  an  almighty  Saviour,  who 
could  not  only  fulfil  the  demands  of  the  law 
on  his  behalf  in  time  to  come,  but  could  also 
bear  the  penalty  of  countless  violations  already 
past. 

He  had  learned  enough  from  Philip  already 
to  know  that  he  had  as  yet  no  glimpse  of  the 
unalterable  requirements  of  a  holy  God  upon 
his  creatures  ;  and  as  he  skilfully  directed  the 
conversation  to  some  other  subject  suggested  by 
tree  or  shrub  or  stone  or  ice  and  snow,  as  they 
walked  along,  he  silently  offered  a  prayer  to 
God  that  some  avenue  to  the  heart  of  the  lonely 
boy  might  yet  be  opened  to  him,  and  that  he 
might  become  instrumental  in  turning  him 
from  his  confidence  in  the  rags  of  a  flimsy  mo- 


AN  ACCIDENT  AND  ITS  RESULTS.     167 

rality  to  the  glorious  and  perfect  salvation  of 
God. 

So  intimately  do  the  things  of  daily  life  blend 
with  things  of  the  kingdom  of  grace.  One 
moment  we  are  speaking  of  the  one,  the  next 
moment  of  the  other.  Nay,  more  than  this. 
As  did  the  Saviour  of  old,  walking  by  the  Sea 
of  Galilee  or  in  the  hill-country  of  Judaea,  we 
may  draw  illustrations  without  number  from 
the  fish  of  the  sea  and  the  fowl  of  the  air, 
the  lily  of  the  field  and  the  grass  by  the  way- 
side. 

There  was  something  in  the  atmosphere  of 
Mr.  White's  home  that  reminded  Philip  of  his 
own.  Yet  they  were  widely  different.  Every 
thing  in  the  little  "cottage  was  of  the  plainest 
and  humblest  description,  though  perfectly  tidy 
and  tasteful.  Was  it  his  mother's  kindness  to 
her  son  ?  Was  it  her  sweet,  cheerful  piety, 
showing  itself  in  her  placid  contentment  ? 
Whatever  it  might  have  been,  something 


168  LINSIDE  FARM. 

touched  Philip's  heart,  and  reminded  him  that 
though  he  was  far  more  in  the  habit  of  recalling 
his  father's  counsels  of  worldly  wisdom,  yet  that 
he  had  had,  as  his  greatest  of  earthly  blessings, 
a,  Christian  mother. 


A  SUNDA  Y  RIDE.  169 


CHAPTER    IX. 

A     SUNDAY     RIDE. 

FEW  more  weeks  finished  Philip's 
three   months    of    school.     During 

o 

that  time,  Mr.  White  had  sought 
and  found  an  opportunity  of  press- 
ing home  upon  Philip's  heart  and  conscience  the 
claims  of  Christ  and  his  gospel.  But  the  utmost 
impression  he  had  been  able  to  make  was  to 
elicit  from  Philip  the  reply,  "  Yes :  I  know  I 
ought  to  be  good  ;  and  I  mean  to  be."  In  vain 
did  Mr.  White  seek  to  make  him  feel  that  he 
was  a  lost  sinner.  In  vain  did  he  repeat  to  him 
the  Saviour's  words,  "  There  is  none  good  save 
one,  that  is  God."  In  vain,  apparently,  at  the 
time.  Yet  no  earnest,  prayerful  effort  of  a  dis- 
ciple of  Christ  to  sow  the  seed  of  the  kingdom 


170  LINSIDE  FARM. 

shall  be  lost.  "  My  word  shall  not  return  unto 
me  void  ;  but  it  shall  accomplish  that  which  I 
please,  and  it  shall  prosper  in  the  thing  where- 
to I  sent  it."  Alas,  that  human  obduracy 
should  cause  that  this  errand  should  not  always 
be  salvation  ! 

On  the  closing  day  of  Philip's  attendance, 
Mr.  White  felt  much  sympathy  with  his  pupil, 
in  consequence  of  his  regret  at  the  winding-up 
of  the  opportunity  he  had  so  much  prized. 
They  parted  with  a  cordial  hand-shake ;  and 
Mr.  White's  last  words  to  him  were,  "  Don't  be 
discouraged,  Philip.  Life  is  all  a  school,  if  we 
only  know  how  to  take  it." 

Philip  walked  thoughtfully  homeward,  re- 
viewing in  his  mind  various  conversations  be- 
tween Mr.  White  and  himself.  "  I  wonder,"  he 
thought,  "  why  Mr.  White  should  talk  to  me  as 
he  does.  He  doesn't  know  me,  surely  he 
doesn't.  I  suppose  he  does  have  some  bad  boys 
to  deal  with  ;  but  I  don't  see  what  I  have  ever 


A  SUNDAY  RIDE.  171 

done  so  bad.  I  don't  mean  to  be  bad  ;  and  on 
the  whole,  under  the  circumstances,  I  think  1 
am  getting  along  first-rate.  I  only  wish  every- 
body would  do  right  by  me." 

Philip  reported  himself  to  Capt.  Reeves 
the  next  morning  as  having  finished  his  three 
months'  schooling. 

The  captain  looked  up  a  little  surprised.  He 
had  kept  close  count  of  the  time,  but  had  in- 
tended to  allow  Philip  to  finish  the  week  upon 
which  he  had  entered.  It  was,  therefore,  a 
matter  of  surprise  to  him  that  the  boy  should 
anticipate  his  orders  to  quit ;  and,  on  the  whole, 
produced  a  very  favorable  impression  on  his 
mind  as  to  Philip's  trustworthiness.  But  he 
only  replied,  "  Well,  try  the  wood-lot  again  for 
a  while,  and  this  time  cut  wood,  and  not  your 
foot."  So  Philip  took  his  axe  again,  and  repaired 
to  the  lonely  forest. 

His  mind  seemed  freshened  and  renewed  by 
the  three  months'  close  application  to  study. 


172  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Labor  seemed  less  dreary,  less  hopeless.  Though 
he  dared  not  repeat  the  experiment  of  taking 
his  book  to  the  woods  with  him,  yet  he  could 
revolve  in  his  mind  the  items  of  knowledge  he 

O 

had  acquired,  and  become  more  and  more 
familiar  with  them  and  with  their  relations  to 
each  other. 

Along  with  these  thoughts  came  other  reflec- 
tions that  were  newer.  Many  times  the  ques- 
tion of  Mr.  White  recurred  to  his  mind,  "  How 
high  were  they  ?  "  which  he  had  asked  respect- 
ing those  very  maxims  and  regulations  of  life 
which  had  been  instilled  into  Philip's  mind  by 
his  father,  and  which  he  had  been  accustomed 
to  regard  as  the  very  highest  that  could  be  pro- 
posed. Looking  back  upon  his  dealings  with 
Capt.  Reeves,  he  took  to  himself  great  credit 
for  the  exactness,  even  to  the  last  penny,  with 
which  he  had  always  delivered  the  returns  from 
his  marketing,  the  scrupulousness  with  which  he 
had  employed  his  time  ;  and  he  even  put  down 


A  SUNDA  Y  RIDE.  173 

to  his  own  credit  the  very  resentments  he  had 
felt  on  account  of  the  rapacity  and  littleness  of 
his  employer.  All  these  reflections  confirmed 
him  in  a  most  comfortable  state  of  self-righteous- 
ness ;  and  he  was  fast  settling  to  the  conclusion, 
that,  if  others  would  do  as  well  as  he  did,  it 
would  make  a  very  satisfactory  state  of  things. 

For  a  while,  Mr.  White  came  occasionally  to 
the  wood-lot,  with  his  cheerful  and  inspiriting 
conversation.  He  always  imparted  some  item 
of  knowledge  to  Philip's  thirsty  mind,  awaken- 
ing his  interest  in  the  common  objects  that  lay 
around  him,  not  merely  as  objects  of  common 
use,  but  also  of  scientific  interest.  He  had  even 
taken  the  trouble  to  meet  him  several  times  at 
night,  by  special  appointment,  that  he  might 
impart  to  him  some  information  respecting  the 
stars  and  other  heavenly  bodies.  With  all  these 
things  he  never  failed  to  link  some  precious 
thought  of  God,  as  Maker,  Upholder,  and 
Ruler  over  all ;  nor  had  his  moral  government 


174  LINSIDE  FARM. 

failed   to  find   ample  illustration   and    enforce- 
ment. 

But  Mr.  White  had  finished  his  school  en- 
gagement, and  had  gone  to  pursue  his  own 
studies  elsewhere,  taking  his  mother  with  him. 
Philip  could  look  for  no  one  to  enliven  his 
solitude,  as  even  Jerome  came  no  more. 
Jerome  had  a  fine  young  horse,  his  own  partic- 
ular pet,  that  he  had  raised  from  a  colt ;  and 
he  had  by  some  means  persuaded  his  father  to 
give  him  a  buggy.  How  this  was  accom- 
plished, it  would  be  difficult  to  tell,  except  that 
the  captain  seemed  to  find  a  malicious  pleasure 
in  giving  him  any  thing  he  summoned  courage 
to  ask  for  ;  thereby  to  give  a  keener  edge  to  his 
frequent  thrusts  on  the  subject  of  Jerome's  gen- 
eral worthlessness.  With  his  gay  establish- 
ment at  command,  Jerome  found  more  conge- 
nial employment  than  visiting  the  wood-lot  to 
talk  with  Philip.  Every  day  found  him  in 
town,  lounging  about  with  other  fellows  as  idle 


Jerome  invites  Phillip  to  ride.— page  175. 


A  SUNDAY  RIDE.  175 

and  worthless  as  himself;  driving  with  an  air 
of  smartness  up  and  down  the  street,  sometimes 
with  Sophy,  sometimes  with  some  other  gay 
girl  or  loafing  companion  by  his  side.  From 
this  use  of  his  time,  the  descent  was  easy  to 
drinking  and  gaming.  Yet  the  captain,  so  far 
from  taking  to  himself  any  blame  or  responsi- 
bility in  the  matter,  simply  shook  his  head 
savagely  at  the  fulfilment,  which  he  had  helped 
to  bring  about,  of  his  own  prophecy,  that. 
Jerome  would  go  to  ruin. 

One  Sabbath  morning  in  the  spring,  Jerome 
astonished  Philip  by  inviting  him  to  ride. 
Philip  had  appeared  that  morning  in  a  new  suit 
of  clothes,  furnished,  under  the  pressure  of 
absolute  necessity,  by  his  penurious  master. 
Probably  it  was  in  good  part  to  this  fact  that 
Philip  was  indebted  for  Jerome's  unwonted 
courtesy.  Whatever  might  have  been  the 
occasion,  Philip  had  too  much  genuine  self- 
respect  to  feel  that  Jerome  had  stooped  in  giv- 


176  LINSIDE  FARM. 

ing  him  this  invitation  ;  and  so  completely  had 
his  own  early  habits  become  obliterated,  that  he 
hesitated  not  a  moment  in  accepting  it.  The 
two  young  men  were  soon  dashing  gayly  along 
the  road,  Jerome  with  the  inevitable  cigar  in 
his  mouth,  and  Philip  excited  to  an  unwonted 
degree  of  animation  by  the  novelty  of  a  ride  in 
a  shining  buggy  with  a  high-spirited  horse,  and 
all  around  the  glory  of  a  sweet  spring  morning. 
Philip  had  not  thought  of  going  into  town  ; 
but  straight  towards  town  Jerome  drove,  enter- 
ing just  as  the  happy  children  and  teachers 
were  thronging  the  streets  on  their  way  to  the 
Sabbath  schools.  Among  them  was  now  and 
then  one  whom  he  recognized.  But  he  had 
been  out  of  town  two  years  nearly ;  and  he 
hoped  to  avoid  recognition  by  the  change  in  his 
personal  appearance.  Why  he  particularly 
wished  it,  he  did  not  stop  to  inquire.  JHe 
found  himself  looking  anxiously,  in  the  hope 
that  neither  Mr.  Parker  nor  Mrs.  Hamilton 


A  SUNDA  Y  RIDE.  177 

might  be  among  those  passing  by.  He  scanned 
the  passing  groups  with  anxiety,  while  yet  ho 
feigned  carelessness  to  Jerome.  At  length  he 
found  Jerome  was  driving  directly  past  Mrs. 
Hamilton's  house,  going  entirely  out  of  his 
course,  as  Philip  afterwards  saw,  in  order  to  do 
so.  Philip  could  not  refrain  from  begging  him 

• 

to  turn  another  way. 

Jerome  laughed.  "  No,"  he  replied.  "  I'm 
taking  you  a-riding,  and  I'm  going  this  way. 
I  thought  you'd  like  to  pass  where  your  friends 
live.  There,  they  are  just  coming  out  of  the 
house." 

Philip  looked  involuntarily,  and  met  Mrs. 
Hamilton's  eye  full  in  his  face. 

There  was  no  possibility  of  avoiding  her  re- 
cognition ;  and  Philip  was  astonished  to  find 
himself  more  overwhelmed  with  shame  than  he 
had  ever  been  while  driving  his  vegetable  cart 
the  previous  summer. 

But  Jerome  must  not  know  it ;  and  there- 
12 


ITS  LINSIDE  FARM. 

fore,  in  reply  to  Jerome's  look  of  astonishment 
at  the  recognition  that  passed  between  him  and 
Mrs.  Hamilton,  he  simply  said,  "  An  old  friend 
of  my  mother's." 

u  Does  Jerome  know  the  whole  story," 
thought  Philip,  "of  her  befriending  me  last 
summer  ?  What  does  Mrs.  Hamilton  think,  to 
see  me  riding  in  this  style,  and  on  Sunday 
morning  too  ?  "  Between  the  two,  he  was 

~  * 

thrown  into  a  state  of  great  perplexity.  Yet 
there  was  no  thought  of  the  eye  of  God  upon 
him. 

While  Philip  was  absorbed  in  these  queries, 
Jerome  had  driven  another  square  or  two,  and 
had  then  turned  aside  into  a  business-street. 
Its  closed  stores  and  shuttered  windows  and 
deserted  walks  should  have  reminded  the  young 
men  yet  more  forcibly  of  the  sanctity  of  that 
Sabbath  which  breaks  in  upon  the  accustomed 
round  of  business,  hushes  the  noise  of  traffic, 
lays  its  hand  upon  the  greed  of  gain,  arrests 


A  SUNDAY  RIDE.  179 

the  mechanic  in  his  labors;,  and  drives  even  vice 
behind  closed  doors  and  pretentiously  barred 
windows. 

Jerome's  horse  turned  with  the  ease  of  habit 
to  a  hitching-post ;  and  the  young  man  sprang 
out,  saying  to  Philip,  "  We'll  stop  here  a  few 
minutes." 

"  What  is  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  innocent ! "  laughed  Jerome. 
"  Hand  me  my  crutch,  and  we  will  go  in  and 
see." 

Philip  obeyed,  with  many  misgivings,  and 
followed  Jerome's  lead  into  a  narrow  passage 
running  some  distance  back  between  the  houses, 
where  Jerome  opened  a  door  and  ushered 
Philip  into  a  spacious  and  well-lighted  apart- 
ment in  the  rear  of  a  room  opening  on  the 
street,  of  which  the  shutters  were  ostentatiously 
closed  and  barred.  Two  or  three  billiard- tables 
occupied  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  one  side 
was  decorated  with  an  array  of  bottles,  and 


180  LINSIDE  FARM. 

adorned  with  the  various  appliances  of  de- 
bauchery. 

The  rattling  of  the  billiard-balls  and  the 
clink  of  glasses  for  a  moment  bewildered 
Philip  ;  and,  thinking  that  he  could  slip  into  a 
chair  and  merely  wait  Jerome's  pleasure,  he  at 
once  sank  upon  the  nearest  seat. 

Jerome  walked  with  all  the  ease  and  famil- 
iarity of  a  well-known  customer  to  the  bar,  and 
turned,  expecting  to  find  Philip  by  his  side. 

With  an  angry  glance,  he  motioned  him  to 
approach.  Philip  declined. 

Jerome  stepped  hastily  back,  and  whispered, 
"  Come  along,  you  greeny.  Come  up  and  take 
something." 

Philip  again  declined. 

"  I  tell  you,  come  along,"  said  Jerome,  still 
more  earnestly.  "  No  gentleman  comes  into  a 
place  like  this  without  spending  a  little  of  his 
money." 

This   last   remark  was   added   with   a,  lofty 


A  SUNDA  Y  RIDE.  181 

swagger,  that  was  intended  to  be  impressive  to 
some  of  Jerome's  companions,  though  they 
could  not  hear  the  remark. 

Philip  was  compelled  to  reply,  "  I  have  no 
money,  — not  a  cent." 

"  Ah  !  is  that  so  ?  "  said  Jerome,  his  whole 
manner  changing  to  condescension.  u  Well, 
walk  up,  then,  and  let  me  treat  you.  I  say, 
Phil,  you  must  come." 

Philip  no  longer  delayed,  but  followed 
Jerome  to  the  bar,  when  that  young  gentleman 
again  turned  and  asked,  "  What  will  you  have, 
Phil  ?  " 

"  A  glass  of  beer,"  answered  Philip,  think- 
ing that  that  beverage  was  least  pernicious. 

With  a  slight  sneer,  Jerome  then  ordered  the 
glass,  which  Philip  quaffed. 

Afterwards,      Jerome      ordered      something 

O 

stronger  for  himself,  and  motioned  to  Philip 
to  be  seated,  as  he  proposed  taking  a  game  at 
billiards. 


182  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Philip  was  glad  to  retreat  to  a  quiet  corner, 
burning  with  shame  and  indignation  at  the  plot 
in  which  he  found  himself  entrapped.  He 
took  up  a  newspaper  to  pass  away  the  time, 
and  attempted  to  read.  The  letters  danced 
before  his  eyes,  and  he  found  himself  unable  to 
trace  a  line  clearly  even  across  a  column.  But 
he  had  not  in  the  least  lost  his  self-possession, 
though  the  glass  of  beer  had  produced  so  much 
effect  upon  his  unaccustomed  brain.  He  had 
thought  and  reflection  enough  left  to  resolve, 
that,  as  that  was  the  first  time,  it  should  also  be 
the  last,  that  he  would  give  over  the  control 
of  his  faculties,  even  to  the  slightest  degree,  to 
whatever  might  intoxicate. 

Jerome,  meanwhile,  entered  with  keen  enjoy- 
ment into  the  excitements  of  his  game,  turning 
now  and  then  to  moisten  his  thirsty  lips  with 
some  of  the  various  mixtures  offered  at  the  bar. 

It  seemed  hours  to  Philip,  it  certainly  was 
more  than  one,  before  Jerome  seemed  to  think 


A  SUNDA  Y  RIDE.  183 

of  leaving.     He  would  not  have  left  then,  had 

O  ' 

it  not  been  that  some  of  his  favorite  fellow- 
revellers  were  absent.  So,  being  himself  not 
altogether  in  a  state  of  enjoyment,  he  be- 
thought himself  of  his  companion  ;  and,  having 
taken  a  parting  glass,  inviting  Philip  to  do  like- 
wise, he  beckoned  Philip  to  follow,  and  they 
stepped  forth  into  the  outer  Sabbath.  The 
stillness  seemed  oppressive.  Even  Jerome  felt 
its  influence,  and  endeavored  to  throw  it  off 
by  appealing  to  Philip,  as  he  gathered  up  the 
lines,  with  the  question,  "  Now,  wasn't  that  a 
jolly  place,  Philip  ?  Just  be  honest,  and  say  if 
it  wasn't  ?  " 

"  Not  to  me,"  answered  Philip. 

"  Oh  !  you're  green,"  exclaimed  Jerome  con- 
temptuously,—  "green  as  grass.  There  is  no 
hope  of  you.  No  fellow  ought  to  go  to  such 
places  without  money.  How  does  it  happen 
you're  so  thoroughly  strapped  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  am  not  earning  any  thing.  Don't 
you  know  that,  Jerome  ?  " 


184  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  Yes,  I  know  that ;  but  don't  you  have  an 
income  of  rents  ?  Don't  your  guardian  give 
you,  now  and  then,  a  dime  ?  or  does  he  keep  it 
all  himself?" 

"  I  see  you  are  making  fun  of  my  poverty." 

"  I  ain't,  —  upon  honor,  I  ain't."  Jerome 
turned  his  flushed  face  towards  his  companion, 
and  repeated  in  an  unsteady  voice,  "  Upon 
honor,  I  ain't,  Philip.  Now,  there's  that  store. 
Wasn't  that  your  father's  store?  Didui't  he 
own  that  building  ?  " 

Philip  assented. 

"  That  building  rents  for  five  hundred  dollars 
a  year,  —  five  hundred  a  year,  I  tell  you, 
Philip." 

'"  Well,"  answered  Philip,  striving  to  keep 
cool,  "what  if  jit  does?  What  is  that  to 
me  ?  I've  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"You  haven't,  eh?  You  haven't?  I'm 
much  inclined  to  think  you  ought  to  have." 

"  The  estate  was  all  settled  up,  and  there  was 


A  SUNDA  Y  RIDE.  185 

nothing  left,  —  absolutely  nothing,"  said  Philip, 
hoping  to  cut  off  all  further  remark  on  so  dis- 
tasteful a  subject. 

"  You  don't  know,"  replied  Jerome  teazingly. 
"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Philip,  I'd  investigate. 
Are  you  sure  there  was  no  hocus-pocus  about 
that  business  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing,"  answered 
Philip  indignantly.  "  Why,  Mr.  Glenn  "  — 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Glenn,"  interrupted  Jerome. 
"  Precious  Mr.  Glenn  !  Who'd  have  thought 
you  were  so  completely  hoodwinked  ?  I  tell 
you  what,  Philip,"  he  continued,  assuming  an 
air  of  great  confidence,  "  there  isn't  much  done 
in  town,  of  any  importance,  that  our  set  over 
there  don't  know  something  about ;  and,  if  1 
were  you,  I'd  investigate  that  matter.  Just  as 
you  like,  of  course  ;  but  I'd  investigate.  Pre- 
cious Mr.  Glenn !  Yes,  I'd  investigate." 

As  if  to  tantalize  Philip  to  the  utmost, 
Jerome  at  that  moment  turned  a  corner,  and 


186  LINSIDE  FARM. 

drove  directly  past  Philip's  old  home.  It  wai 
the  first  time  he  had  been  near  it  since  it 
ceased  to  be  his  home.  He  had  always  pur- 
posely avoided  it ;  but  now  there  it  was,  with 
all  its  familiar  features.  Not  even  a  speck  of 
new  paint  had  been  added.  The  old  had 
become  a  little  dingy,  the  trees  and  shrubs  had 
grown  some;  but  nothing  had  been  added, 
nothing  removed.  At  the  window  above,  that 
used  to  be  his  own  window,  a  strange  face  was 

*  O 

looking  out,  —  the  face  of  a  boy  near  his  own 
age.  Philip's  heart  filled  with  rage  as  he  looked 
at  the  strange  face  in  that  familiar  window.  He 
was  even  obliged  to  turn  away,  lest  he  should 
show  in  his  countenance  some  indication  of  the 
fearful  passions  that  had  been  roused  by 
Jerome's  insinuations. 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Jerome  coldly :  "  I'd  in- 
vestigate." 

Philip  did  not  trust  himself  to  reply,  and 
they  drove  on  in  silence,  out  into  the  open 


A  SUNDA  Y  RIDE.  187 

country,  in  a  direction  opposite  'to  Linside 
Farm :  on  and  on.  The  air  was  delicious, 
and  Philip's  mind  gradually  became  calm. 
There  was  no  longer  before  them  a  constant 
reminder  of  the  Sabbath  day.  The  fields, 
though  deserted  by  laborers,  were  yet  so  unlike 
the  hushed  streets  of  the  busy  town,  that  it  was 
easy  to  forget  that  it  was  a  Sabbath  stillness 
that  reigned  around  them. 

The  two  young  men  resumed  conversation 
on  other  topics,  after  a  long  pause  ;  and  at  length 
Philip  found,  that,  by  some  winding  with  which 
he  was  unacquainted,  they  had  changed  their 
direction,  and  were  approaching  home  without 
having  returned  through  town.  The  town  lay 
in  full  view,  a  mile  or  two  away,  and  brought 
again  to  prominence  in  Philip's  mind  the 
thoughts  that  had  been  rankling  underneath 
all  his  idle  talk  during  the  latter  portion  of  the 
ride.  He  could  not  turn  his  eyes  away  from 
the  view  of  the  town  that  lay  before  him.  His 


188  LINSIDE  FARM. 

gaze  lingered  there  as  if  by  some  fascination 
At  length  he  asked  suddenly,  "  How  would  you 
investigate,  Jerome  ?  " 

"  I  should  place  the  whole  matter  in  the 
hands  of  some  competent  lawyer,"  Jerome 
answered  pompously. 

"  Ah !  then  I  should  need  money  from  the 
very  start." 

"  Money  ?  Of  course  you  would.  What 
can  be  done  without  money  ?  " 

Philip  was  again  silent. 

"I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  Philip,"  resumed 
Jerome  with  a  confidential  air :  "  I've  been 
studying  law  a  little  myself.  I've  done  it  all 
clandestinely.  Father  don't  know  a  word 
about  it,  unless  he  has  heard  it  in  some  other 
way  than  by  me.  He  thinks  I  just  waste  all 
my  time  ;  but,  as  I  said,  I've  put  in  a  little  of  it 
studying  law  :  and  nothing  would  suit  me  bet- 
ter than  to  work  up  that  case  for  you,  after  a 
while.  There's  no  hurry,  you  know.  You're 
bound  for  four  years  yet." 


A  SUNDA  Y  RIDE.  189 

"  But,  as  you  said,  Jerome,  it  would  need 
money." 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  could  wait,  you  know.  I  tell 
you,  Phil,  I  feel  so  sure  there's  been  dishonesty 
in  that  case,  that  I  would  be  willing  to  stake 
my  reputation  on  it.  I  would  almost  agree  to 
wait  till  the  property  was  recovered,  and  -then 
you  could  afford  to  pay  me  well.  All  the 
back  rents  and  all  would  count  up  hand- 
somely ! " 

"  Well,  I'll  think  about  it,"  answered  Philip, 
as  they  passed  the  feeding-place  of  pigs  and 
stock,  with  its  unsightly  litter,  and  drew  up 
before  the  front  yard,  gay  with  Sophy's  tulips. 

Philip  entered,  and  ascended  the  back  stairs. 
There  was  Chesterfield  again,  his  home,  and 
his  father's  store.  Exasperated  by  the  suspi- 
cion that  had  never  entered  his  mind  before, 
that  he  had  been  defrauded  of  his  possessions, 
he  shook  his  clenched  fist  towards  the  town 
and  turned  white  with  rage. 


190  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Altogether,  that  Sabbatli  had  been  the  most 
miserable  day  of  Philip's  life.  He  had  known 
before  the  bitterness  of  grief,  the  severity  of 
toil,  the  heavy  pressure  of  loneliness ;  but 
never  before  had  so  many  dark  passions  been 
roused  within  him.  He  felt  thoroughly 
wretched  and  degraded  ;  yet,  from  the  midst  of 
all,  he  contrived  to  evolve  a  certain  unction  for 
his  soul,  from  the  fact  that  he  did  not  go  will- 
ingly to  a  drinking  and  gaming  house,  and,  still 
more,  from  a  comparison  of  himself  with  those, 
who,  he  had  been  led  to  suppose,  were  guilty 
of  defrauding  him.  "  What  rascality  !  What 
cheating !  I  am  thankful  that  I  am  above 
such  things,  if  I  am  poor." 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONEY.  191 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE   LOVE    OF    MONEY. 

ES  spring  approached,  Philip  won- 
dered many  times  whether  he 
would  be  required  to  resume  his 
marketing.  The  question  was  an- 
swered for  him  as  the  season  opened.  Another 
boy  appeared  in  the  family,  and  was  sent  up 
stairs  to  share  Philip's  room,  as  he  had  himself 
at  first  been  thrust  in  upon  Tom. 

There  was  something  in  the  boy's  counte- 
nance that  looked  familiar  to  Philip ;  but  it 
was  not  until  he  announced  his  name,  Andy 
Fleming,  that  Philip  recognized  his  humble 
school-fellow  of  former  years,  not  much 
younger  than  himself,  but  smaller,  and  slighter 
in  his  build.  Philip's  time  had  become  too 


192  LINS1DE  FARM. 

valuable  to  be  spent  in  driving  the  cart,  and 
Andy  had  been  called  in  for  that  special  ser- 
vice. Philip  looked  at  the  boy  with  .pity, 
remembering  his  own  hardships  of  the  previous 
summer.  But  Andy's  merry  countenance  and 
twinkling  gray  eyes  were  not  at  all  clouded  by 
the  prospect.  To  him  the  little  cart  was  a 
throne,  and  the  expected  employment  gay,  at 
least  in  prospect. 

Philip's  time  was  occupied  with  ploughing, 
sowing  oats,  planting  corn  and  potatoes,  and  all 
the  various  labors  of  farm-life.  Though  more 
laborious  than  his  occupations  of  the  previous 
year,  yet  it  was  luxury  in  comparison.  He 
was  almost  always  under  his  master's  eye ;  but 
he  cared  nothing  for  that.  He  rather  prided 
himself  upon  not  fearing  observation. 

Andy  was  required  to  bring  his  returns 
directly  to  the  captain  ;  and  it  often  occurred 
that  Philip  was  at  hand,  pursuing  his  own  oc- 
cupation, when  Andy  appeared.  Although  the 


THE  LOVE   OF  MONEY.  193 

money  did  not  pass,  bit  by  bit,  through  his 
own  fingers,  as  the  previous  summer,  yet  the 
sight  of  it,  counted  out  before  his  eyes,  and 
carefully  stowed  away  by  the  captain  in  his 
large  pocket-book,  aroused  to  renewed  vehe- 
mence that  craving  for  money  by  which  he  had 
then  been  exercised.  Indeed,  these  desires  were 
increased  many  fold  by  the  intimations  Jerome 
had  given  him,  that  perhaps,  with  the  expendi- 
ture of  a  little  money,  a  valuable  property  that 
rightfully  belonged  to  him  might  be  restored. 
Day  and  night  he  was  haunted  by  the  recollec- 
tion of  this  possibility.  Ever  before  his  eyes, 
as  a  perpetual  reminder,  lay  the  town  of  Ches- 
terfield,—  his  own  old  home,  and  his  father's 
place  of  business  easily  distinguishable  to  his 
accustomed  eye.  In  vain  he  tried  to  banish 
the  thought.  In  vain  he  assured  and  re- 
assured himself,  that,  whatever  frauds  might 
have  crept  into  the  settlement  of  his  father's 
estate,  it  would  be  impossible  now  to  retrace 

18 


194  LINSIDE  FARM. 

the  whole  process,  and  re-establish  his  claims. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him,  that,  as  a  minor,  he 
could  by  no  possibility  of  means  examine 
the  management  of  his  guardian.  The  only 
question  in  his  mind  was  whether  he  had  been 
defrauded.  He  knew,  besides,  that,  at  the  time 
of  his  father's  death,  he  was  more  or  less  in- 
volved in  debt ;  and  that,  although  he  had  often 
expressed  perfect  confidence  in  his  ability  to 
extricate  himself  in  a  few  years,  with  any  ordi- 
nary degree  of  prosperity,  still  his  removal  must 
have  produced  great  changes  ;  and  perhaps  to 
clear  up  tlie  whole  matter,  under  those  altered 
circumstances,  might  have  required  the  sacri- 
fice of  all  he  had  left.  One  consideration 
should  have  settled  the  question  ;  and  tliat  was, 
that  he  knew  nothing  at  all  about  the  business. 
He  only  suspected  and  wondered,  and  made 
himself  miserable.  With  the  same  sort  of  in- 
fatuation that  possesses  the  desperate  gambler, 
again  and  again  came  back  upon  him  the  over- 


THE  LOVE   OF  MONEY.  195 

whelming  desire  to   "investigate"    the   whole 
matter. 

Coming  suddenly  upon  Andy  one  day,  as  he 
was  going  about  his  own  employment,  he  found 
the  little  fellow  sitting  in  a  fence-corner,  and, 
with  his  pockets  inside  out,  greedily  counting 
over  sundry  bits  of  small  coin,  and  little  wads 
of  paper  money,  which  he  carefully  smoothed 
out  and  laid  in  piles  on  his  knee.  The  recol- 
lection came  to  his  mind,  how  easily,  notwith- 
standing Capt.  Reeves's  vigilance,  he  could 
have  taken,  bit  by  bit,  from  his  last  summer's 
earnings ;  and  he  felt  assured  Andy  had  taken 
the  liberty  he  scorned.  Andy  gathered  up  his 
fragments  with  a  hasty  sweep  of  his  hand,  and 
looked  up  with  a  startled  expression,  as  he 
became  conscious  some  one  was  near ;  but,  see- 
ing who  it  was,  exclaimed,  "  Oh  !  it's  nobody 
but  you  :  I  was  kind  o'  scared.  See  here,  now: 
just  tell  me  how  much  money  you  laid  up  last 
summer,  won't  you  ?  " 


196  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Philip.  "  I 
wasn't  earning  money.  How  could  I  lay  up 
any?" 

"  Now,  you  don't ! "  answered  Andy. 
"  Come,  now,  just  tell  a  feller.  The  fact  is,  I 
don't  know  how  far  it's  safe  to  go.  I  hain't 
got  much  yet,  that's  sure.  If  he  should  once 
suspect  me,  the  game's  up,  you  know.  But  I'd 
like  to  carry  it  as  far  as  I  could  safely.  So  I 
want  to  know  how  you  managed." 

11  If  you  want  to  know  how  I  managed," 
replied  Philip  with  his  utmost  dignity,"  "  I 
returned  every  cent,  every  time,  to  the  captain. 
Do  you  suppose  I  would  steal  ?  " 

"  Bother !  "  replied  Andy.  "  You  might 
help  a  fellow  now.  Do  you  suppose  I'm  going 
to  believe  you'd  let  such  a  chance  slip,  and 
make  nothing  of  it  ?  You  ain't  such  a  fool.  I 
suppose  you'll  go  straight  and  tell  on  me  now." 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing.  I'm  no  in- 
former. You  can  manage  your  business  to 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONEY.  197 

suit  yourself,  you  rascal :  but  I'd  be  above  steal- 
ing, if  I  were  you." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  these  his  full 
sentiments  on  the  subject  of  common  honesty, 
Philip  passed  on,  filled  with  contempt  for  his 
crafty  little  fellow-worker,  and  with  lofty 
respect  for  himself.  Andy  resumed  the  count- 
ing of  his  small  gains  ;  the  expression  of  low 
shrewdness  and  expert  cunning  returning  to  his 
'ace.  In  truth,  Philip  felt  some  degree  of 
satisfaction  in  the  state  of  things  he  had  dis- 
covered. He  was  glad  the  captain  was  for 
once  come  up  with  and  overreached  by 
Andy's  cunning  and  deceit.  Yet,  while  thus 
trampling  on  the  eighth  commandment  in  the 
spirituality  of  its  requisitions,  his  self-compla- 
cency was  not  in  the  least  disturbed. 

He  was  on  his  way  to  dinner.  As  he 
entered  the  house,  he  encountered  Jerome. 
He  was  seldom  in  his  old  place  on  the  lounge 
of  late.  Indeed,  Philip  rarely  saw  him  at  all. 


198  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Now,,  as  they  passed  with  a  mere  word  of 
greeting,  familiar  and  patronizing  on  Jerome's 
part,  Philip  could  not  but  notice  how  pain- 
fully his  bloated  face  and  swaggering  manner 
contrasted  with  his  former  quiet  self;  but  it 
was  a  mere  passing  glance.  The  reason  of  the 
change  Philip  understood  too  well. 

"  Where's  Andy  ? "  asked  Jerome  impa- 
tiently. 

"  I  think  he  will  be  here  in  a  moment," 
Philip  answered.  "  I  passed  him  a  little  way 
from  the  house." 

"  Why  didn't  you  hurry  up  the  young 
scamp  ?  I  want  my  horse  taken  care  of. 
Look  here :  suppose  you  just  go  and  do  it." 

Philip  felt  his  blood  tingle  to  his  finger-ends, 
as  he  turned  to  confront  the  well-dressed  figure 
of  the  worthless  young  man.  A  step  further 
showed  the  spirited  young  horse  and  shining 
buggy  standing  at  the  gate,  where  Jerome  had 
just  left  them  as  he  had  returned  from  town. 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONEY.  199 

Before  Philip  could  frame  a  reply,  which, 
probably,  from  the  state  of  mind  he  was  in, 
would  not  have  been  such  as  would  have  been 
acceptable  .to  Jerome,  Andy  appeared,  and 
Philip  passed  on. 

Dinner  was  not  quite  ready  when  he  reached 
the  kitchen  ;  and  he  ran  hastily  up  stairs  and 
unlocked  his  trunk.  It  was  a  short  journey  to 
the  bottom  now.  His  wardrobe  was  reduced 
to  the  barest  necessities.  His  books,  that  had 
many  times  wakened  a  glow  of  pleasure, 
though  mingled  with  longing  for  more  frequent 
access  to  them,  seemed  now  to  fill  him  with 
a  sort  of  madness.  He  flung  them  from  side  to 
side,  and  plunged  at  once  to  the  bottom  with 
an  air  of  desperation.  From  its  quiet  corner 
he  drew  forth  to  the  light  again  his  father's 
watch.  He  had  never  trusted  himself  to  wear 
the  precious  relic :  not  only  because  of  the 
priceless  value  his  father's  memory  gave  it, 
but  still  more  because  he  felt  the  incongruity 


200  LINSIDE  FARM. 

between  it  and  his  attire  and  situation.  He 
opened  the  box  and  looked  at  it,  as  if -balan- 
cing some  weighty  question  in  his  mind.  After 
a  few  moments,  he  replaced  the  watch,  closed 
the  box  resolutely,  and,  taking  a  pencil,  wrote 
upon  the  cover  the  words,  "  No,  never  !  "  He 
then  quietly  put  the  box  in  its  corner  again, 
and  went  down  to  his  dinner. 

As  he  returned  to  his  work  after  dinner,  he 
turned  his  back  resolutely  upon  Chesterfield  as 
it  lay  in  the  gay  sunshine.  His  heart  was 
filled  with  bitterness.  Through  it,  as  through 
a  beaten  highway,  trooped  thoughts  of  his 
poverty,  his  abject  condition,  of  Jerome  going 
the  way  of  ruin,  with  plenty  of  money  in  his 
pockets  acquired  by  gambling ;  then  of  his 
own  former  life,  with  its  high  hopes  and  aspira- 
tions, of  his  father,  and  his  father's  wishes  and 
designs  respecting  himself.  In  short,  it  was  the 
old  experience  :  "  I  was  envious  at  the  foolish, 
when  I  saw  the  prosperity  of  the  wicked. 


THE  LOVE   OF  MONEY.  201 

Verily,  I  have  cleansed  my  heart  in  vain,  and 
washed  my  hands  in  innocency." 

But  he  knew  not  where  to  go  for  the  un- 
ravelling of  his  difficulties.  Their  end,  his  own 
end,  he  understood  not.  Could  he  have  said,  "  I 
am  continually  with  Thee :  Thou  hast  holden 
me  by  my  right  hand,  Thou  shalt  guide  me 
with  thy  counsel,  and  afterwards  receive  me  to 
glory,"  rest  and  peace  might  have  filled  his 
heart.  But  he  thought  almost  aloud,  "  O 
my  father!  how  can  I  live  up  to  your  wishes 
and  your  maxims?  Yet,"  he  continued,  "can 
I  not?  I  can  and  I  will.  I  can  at  least  be 
upright,  industrious,  and  faithful ;  and  that,  in 
my  father's  estimation,  will  be  an  honorable 
life.  Yes,  father,  I  will  live  honorably.  I  will, 
I  will ! " 

It  was  always  his  father,  and  his  father's 
maxims,  that  came  uppermost  to  Philip's  mind ; 
not  his  mother's:  perhaps  because  they  were 
more  congenial  to  his  own  taste ;  perhaps  be- 


202  LINSIDE  FARM. 

cause,  having  been  left  by  his  mother's  death 
alone  with  his  father  the  last  year  or  two  of 
Mr.  Landon's  life,  his  directions  had  thus  becMi 
rendered  more  impressive.  However  that  may 
have  been,  had  his  mother  been  at  hand  at  that 
moment,  she  would  have  sought  to  lift  his 
thoughts  higher  than  the  mere  matter  of  out- 
ward prosperity.  She  would  have  turned  his  at- 
tention to  that  law  of  the  Lord  which  is  perfect, 
converting  the  soul,  making  it  pure,  even  as  to 
its  very  thoughts  and  intentions.  Perhaps  such 
reflections  might  have  disturbed  his  self-com- 
placency, but  they  would  have  been  salutary  ; 
for,  though  nothing  was  farther  from  Philip's 
consciousness  than  to  recognize  in  himself  any 
feeling  of  self-complacency,  yet  it  was  nothing 
else  that  made  him  lift  his  head,  and  walk  in  a 
proud  self-congratulation,  that,  whatever  Jerome 
might  possess,  yet  he  was,  after  all,  but  a  worth- 
less spendthrift ;  while,  whatever  he  might  him- 
self lack,  yet,  in  himself  considered,  he  was 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONEY.  203 

quite  as  near  right  as  could  be  expected  under 
the  circumstances,  and  that  certainly,  in  the  end, 
he  would  have  the  advantage. 

In  the  end  !  Where  is  the  end,  and  what  is 
it  ?  To  Philip,  it  meant  simply  the  accom- 
plishment of  his  own  purposes,  the  establishment 
of  himself  in  business,  with  a  fair  chance  of 
success  ;  and  that  fair  chance,  he  was  sure,  lay 
wholly  under  his  own  control,  whenever  he 
could  be  freed  from  the  bonds  that  had  become 
so  galling. 

"  Only  four  years  more,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  and  then  !  I  have  lived  through  a  third  of 
my  time  of  service  already :  I  shall  be  free  by 
and  by." 

There  was  no  effort  on  Philip's  part  to 
repress  the  discontentment  and  covetousness 
that  rankled  in  his  heart.  There  was  no 
watchfulness  against  sin,  nor  even  a  recognition 
of  its  existence.  On  the  contrary,  day  after  dayf 
as  he  pursued  his  various  tasks,  he  revolved 


204  LINSIDE  FARM. 

over  and  over  in  liis  mind  his  personal  griev- 
ances ;  sometimes  on  the  point  of  running  away, 
and  deterred  only  by  the  dishonor  attendant  on 
a  failure  on  his  side  to  fulfil  his  part  of  the  con- 
tract that  bound  him  during  those  six  precious 
years  of  his  life  to  so  h'ksome  a  bondage. 

At  length  it  occurred  to  him  that  perhaps  he 
might  obtain  in  some  way  an  honorable  release. 
He  had  no  friend  to  advise  him ;  at  least 
he  did  not  regard  Mr.  Glenn  as  such :  but, 
after  much  deliberation,  he  resolved  to  try. 
Had  he  known  the  value  the  captain  placed 
upon  his  services,  he  would  have  inferred  the 
uselessness  of  the  effort.  The  truth  was,  Capt. 
Reeves  paid  daily  tribute,  in  his  own  mind,  to 
Philip's  faithfulness  and  efficiency.  Not  that 
he  regarded  it  as  any  thing  more  than  was 
justly  his  due,  as  indeed  it  was  not ;  but  he 
simply  acknowledged  it  to  himself  as  an  un- 
usual piece  of  good  fortune  that  had  come  to 
him  in  securing  the  services  of  such  a  boy. 


THE  LOVE   OF  MONEY.  205 

And,  moreover,  Philip's  services  were  becoming 
more  valuable  every  day.  He  was  already 
capable  of  doing  nearly  a  man's  full  work,  and 
whatever  he  did  was  sure  to  be  done  well. 

Philip's  inquiry  whether  there  was  any  possi- 
ble way  in  which  his  ties  to  his  master  could  be 
severed  was  met  with  a  look  of  simple  amaze- 
ment on  the  part  of  the  captain.  The  true 
ground  of  this  amazement,  however,  was  care- 
fully concealed  under  the  question  asked  in 
turn  :  "  Look  here,  young  man  :  do  you  know 
when  you're  well  off?  Don't  you  know  that 
if  you're  bound  to  me,  I'm  bound  to  you  too  ? 
The  agreement  is  mutual.  You  are  sure  of  a 
home  and  a  living  for  four  years  yet.  Is  that 
a  small  matter?  What  could  a  young- fellow 
like  you  do,  turned  loose  ?  " 

"  But  I  don't  think  farming  is  the  employ- 
ment I  shall  choose  by  and  by ;  and  I'd  so 
much  rather  be  preparing  myself  for  something 
else." 


206  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  Didn't  you  consent  to  it  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  didn't  know  much  about  it 
then." 

"  But  you  consented.     That's  the  point." 

"  Then  is  there  no  way  to  make  a  change  ?  " 

"  None,  except  by  mutual  consent." 

"  Well,"  said  Philip  expectantly. 

"  Drive  on,"  said  the  captain. 

So  Philip  took  up  the/  lines,  and  drove  on 
about  his  business,  leaving  his  employer  looking 
after  him  with  the  air  of  one  who  holds  in  his 
hands  an  advantage  which  he  means  to  keep  at 
all  hazards. 

* 

Philip,  meanwhile,  drove  towards  Chester- 
field. His  business  took  him  there  that  day, 
as  it  mrely  had  done  since  he  finished  his 
market-gardening.  The  fall  was  coming  on. 
The  roads  were  dry  and  dusty,  the  weeds  by 
the  wayside  withered  and  brown.  Could 
Philip  have  raised  his  eyes  from  these,  a  gor- 
geous prospect  of  forest  and  sky  would  have  met 


THE   LOVE   OF  MONEY.  20 T 

his  gaze ;  but  for  him  there  was  nothing  bnt 
dust  and  withered  herbage,  save  as  occasionally 
he  looked  towards  the  town  he  was  approaching. 

"  Mine,  perhaps,"  he  exclaimed,  as  his  eye 
rested  on  the  buildings  so  familiar  to  him  as 
home  and  place  of  business.  "  Yes,  perhaps 
they  are  mine ;  while  I  "  —  He  finished  his 
sentence  mentally,  with  an  expression  of  intense 
disgust ;  and  then,  quickening  the  pace  of  his 
lagging  horses,  drowned  his  reflections  in  the 
rattling  noise  of  his  rough  wagon. 

Just  before  he  reached  town,  Jerome  drove 
briskly  up  from  behind  him. 

"  Ha !  it's  you,  is  it  ? "  said  Jerome. 
"  Might  have  kept  you  company  all  the  way 
if  you  hadn't  got  the  start  of  me.  'Twould 
have  been  hard  work  to  hold  back,  though. 
Oh !  say,"  he  added,  as  if  an  after-thought  had 
struck  him :  "  have  you  examined  into  that 
little  matter  I  told  you  about  in  the  summer  ?  ' 

"  No." 


208  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  You  haven't  ?  Oh  !  well,  a  few  thousand 
dollars  isn't  of  much  consequence  to  you,  I  sup- 
pose. 'Tisn't  worth  while  to  pay  any  attention 
to  the  thing.  However,  I'll  just  tell  you  that 
your  precious  Mr.  Glenn  is  going  off  West 
soon.  He  has  got  money  he  wants  to  invest  in 
lands,  I  suppose.  I  don't  say  it's  a  matter  of 
any  interest  to  you ;  but  I  thought  may  be  you 
would  like  to  say  good-by  to  him  before  he 
goes." 

Jerome  touched  his  horse  with  the  tip  of  his 
whip  ;  and  in  a  moment  more  he  was  beyond 
hearing,  if  Philip  had  desired  to  reply.  But 
the  truth  was,  he  had  no  reply  to  make,  unless 
it  might  be  to  express  the  wish  that  Jerome 
would  leave  him  in  peace.  Philip  allowed  his 
horses  to  take  their  own  pace  ;  and  by  the  time 
he  had  crossed  the  bridge,  and  reached  the 
public  street,  Jerome's  horse  was  at  the  hitch- 
ing post  towards  which  he  had  learned  invaria- 
bly to  turn  his  nose  whenever  he  entered  town. 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONEY.  209 

Philip  drove  slowly  by,  then  on,  past  his 
father's  store,  then  past  Mr.  Glenn's  place  of 
business,  Mr.  Glenn  himself  standing  in  the 
door.  The  gentleman  greeted  Philip  with  a 
nod,  and  turned  and  entered  his  store. 

"  You  villain  !  "  muttered   Philip  under  his 

breath.       He    had,    unconsciously   to    himself, 

t 

fully  adopted  as  truth  the  intimations  Jerome 
had  given  him  respecting  Mr.  Glenn's  manage- 
ment of  his  father's  estate  ;  and,  had  it  been 
possible  for  him,  he  would  have  rushed  at  once 
to  the  office  of  some  lawyer,  to  have  the  whole 
matter  investigated,  as  Jerome  had  suggested. 

As  it  was,  he  was  powerless.  He  could  do 
nothing  but  go  quietly  on  with  his  business, 
and  then  drive  back  to  the  farm.  This,  there- 
fore, was  what  he  did.  No  one,  seeing  the 
plain  farmer's  boy  driving  his  team  along  the 
common  thoroughfare,  would  have  suspected 
that  he  was  meditating  the  recovery  of  an 
estate. 

14 


210  LINSIDE  FARM. 

The  rapid  succession  of  fall  work  kept 
Philip  constantly  employed.  Gathering  in  and 
taking  care  of  the  year's  crops,  ploughing 
and  seeding,  and  various  other  matters,  oc- 
cupied both  hands  and  thoughts.  One  fine 
day,  when  a  change  of  weather  threatened  to 
interfere  with  the  completion  of  Philip's  task, 
Capt.  Reeves  brought  his  own  team  to  the  field 
where  Philip  was  at  work.  The  master  in  one 
part  of  the  field,  and  the  boy  in  another,  fol- 
lowed the  plough  from  side  to  side,  till  at 
length  Philip  came  to  where'  the  captain  had 
thrown  down  his  coat  in  a  fence-corner,  as  he 
commenced  his  labor.  A  motion  and  a  pair 
of  sparkling  eyes  caught  Philip's  attention  ; 
and,  taking  a  second  look,  he  saw  a  field-mouse 
crouching  in  the  folds  of  the  coat.  Looking 
more  narrowly,  he  noticed  that  Capt.  Reeves's 
pocket-book  had  fallen  half  out  of  his  pocket  as 
he  had  thrown  down  the  coat,  and  that  the 
mouse  had  been  busy  with  its  contents.  The 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONEY.  211 

band  holding  it  together  had  been  worn  out, 
and  replaced  by  a  string,  which  the  mouse  had 
no  difficulty  in  gnawing  through ;  and  the 
whole  had  then  fallen  open,  leaving  the  con- 
tents exposed  to  the  little  creature's  busy  activ- 
ity. Bits  of  paper  and  bank-notes  strewed  the 
ground,  and  one  twenty-dollar  bill  was  dragged 
to  some  distance,  doubtless  on  its  way  to  line 
the  provident  mouse's  winter-quarters.  Philip 
hastily  gathered  up  the  papers.  There  were 
many  folded  scraps,  of  the  '  nature  of  which 
Philip  of  course  knew  nothing.  Besides  these, 
there  was  a  pile  of  bank-notes,  on  the  ends  of 
which  Philip  could  see  their  various  denomina- 
tions,—  fives,  tens,  twenties,  how  much  more 
he  knew  not ;  while  his  own  pocket  was  empty, 
had  been  long  empty,  and  was  likely  to  be  for 
a  long  time  to  come.  "  I  have  saved  all  this 
from  destruction  for  him,"  he  thought,  as  he 
stepped  further  on  to  pick  up  the  stray  twenty. 
Hastily  slipping  the  rescued  note  into  his  vest- 


212  LINSIDE  FARM. 

pocket,  he  tied  up  the  pocket-book,  replaced  it 
in  the  pocket ;  and,  hanging  the  coat  out  of 
reach  of  further  depredations,  Philip  started  his 
horses  to  their  work  again. 

It  was  done:  and  Philip,  with  all  his  high  sen- 
timents of  honor  and  honesty  and  faithfulness, 
was  a  thief  I  He  could  scarcely  believe  him- 
self, when,  a  moment  after,  he  came  to  his 
senses,  and  knew  what  he  had  done.  The 
temptation  had  come  so  suddenly,  so  over- 
poweringly  upon  him ;  it  seemed  so  easy  to  do 
the  deed  and  escape  detection,  laying  the  theft 
upon  the  mouse  ;  he  had  felt  his  master's  heel 
grinding  him  down  so  mercilessly,  and  he 
wanted  money  so  much,  —  all  this  and  much 
more  had  passed  through  his  mind  in  that  brief 
interval.  Now  the  .deed  was  done,  and  the 
money  was  in  his  pocket.  He  could  not  stop 
to  replace  it,  for  he  well  knew  he  should  be 
called  to  account  for  having  stopped  to  move 
the  coat  at  all. 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONEY.  213 

That  twenty-dollar  bill,  that  bit  of  flimsy 
paper,  had  it  weighed  ten  pounds,  could  not 
have  seemed  heavier  than  it  did,  lying  there, 
tucked  away  in  his  vest-pocket.  It  seemed  to 
him  Capt.  Reeves  could  see  it  all  the  distance 
across  the  field.  His  father's  words  came  to 
his  mind :  "  My  son,  you  have  a  life  to  live. 
Live  honorably."  For  the  first  time  :  he  could 
not  respond,  "  I  will,  father :  I  will !  " 

Noon  came,  and  he  must  meet  his  master's 
eye. 

"  I  see  you  have  taken  up  my  coat,"  said  the 
captain.  "  What  was  the  matter  ?  " 

"  A  mouse  was  making  free  with  your  pocket- 
book,"  Philip  answered,  at  the  same  time  busy- 
ing himself  about  the  buckles  of  his  horse's 
harness.  "  I  don't  know  whether  any  mis- 
chief was  done  or  not.  The  papers  were 
scattered,  and  I  picked  them  up." 

"  A  mouse,  hey !  the  little  scamp ! "  exclaimed 
the  captain  excitedly,  taking  out  his  pocket- 


214  LINSIDE  FARM. 

book  and  examining  the  contents.  First,  all 
the  papers  were  overlooked.  None  of  them 
had  sustained  serious  injury,  though  corners 
were  gone,  and  some  holes  gnawed  through  the 
folds.  Then  he  counted  the  money. 

It  seemed  to  Philip  that  his  heart  could  be 
heard  thumping  against  his  ribs  as  the  captain 
smoothed  out  one  bill  after  another,  muttering 
all  the  while,  "  A  mouse,  hey  !  Pretty  busi- 
ness for  a  mouse  !  The  little  rascal !  " 

"  Twenty  dollars  gone,"  he  said  at  length, 
looking  at  Philip.  It  was  only  an  ordinary 
glance,  but  it  seemed  to  Philip  that  it  burned 
him  through. 

"  Where  was  it  ?  "  asked  the  captain. 

"  Just  here,  on  this  very  corner." 

The  captain  examined  the  ground  narrowly. 
There  were  some  mere  specks  of  paper,  but 
nothing  to  give  any  clew  to  the  missing  note. 

"  How  easily  you  might  have  taken  it,  and 
ever  so  much  more.  If  it  wasn't  that  you 


THE  LOVE   OF  MONEY.  215 

• 

never  cheated  me  a  farthing  in  your  life,  I'd 
suspect  you.  You  see  what  comes  of  having  a 
good  character.  That  little  scamp  has  his  nest 
lined  with  it,  no  doubt;  all  torn  to  bits,  of 
course.  Well,  well,  there's  no  help  for  it,"  he 
added,  after  having  examined  as  far  around  as 
he  could  possibly  expect  it  to  be  found.  "  It's 
well  that  he  didn't  take  more." 

The  captain  took  the  loss  much  more  quietly 
than  Philip  could  have  expected.  The  truth 
was,  he  always  met  losses  calmly,  when  owing 
to  his  own  carelessness  or  to  any  natural  cause  ; 
while  to  be  cheated  out  of  a  halfpenny  by  the 
unfaithfulness  of  any  one  in  his  employ,  or  by 
downright  dishonesty,  threw  him  into  a  rage. 

Philip  wished  he  would  rage  and  storm ; 
any  thing  rather  than  such  unwonted  good- 
humor  towards  himself.  He  did  not  suspect, 
tliat,  under  the  lashings  of  his  conscience,  he 
had  been  doing  almost  double  work  since  that 

C3 

money  had  lain  in  his  pocket,  and  that  this  was 


LINSIDE  FARM. 

the  secret  of  the  captain's  rare  kindliness. 
Capt.  Reeves  was  thinking  what  a  treasure  he 
possessed  in  Philip ;  and  his  early  suspicions, 
such  as  he  entertained  towards  everybody,  hav- 
ing proved  so  utterly  groundless,  not  a  shadow 
of  doubt  had  entered  his  mind  that  Philip  had 
told  the  whole  truth. 


CONFESSION.  217 


CHAPTER    XI. 

CONFESSION. 

IHROUGH  the  remainder  of  the  day, 
i 

Philip  worked  with  that  twenty-dollar 
note  in  his  pocket.  He  felt  a  con- 
stant disposition  to  thrust  his  fingers  in, 
and  see  if  it  was  really  there ;  yet  he  dared  not. 
At  night  he  found  opportunity  to  go  to  his  room 
before  Andy ;  and,  cramming  the  loathed  and 
hated  note  into  the  box  that  contained  his 
watch,  he  locked  the  trunk  and  dropped  the  key 
into  his  pocket  as  usual.  He  turned  to  the 
window.  The  lights  from  the  distant  town 
reproached  him.  His  father's  grave  cried  out 
against  him.  He  glided  down  stairs,  and,  after 
supper,  took  up  a  newspaper.  He  found  him- 
self looking  over  police-records,  and  imagining 


218  LINSIDE  FARM. 

himself  already  under  arrest.  He  was  a  thief, 
and  felt  sure  every  one  must  know  it. 

Week  after  week  passed  by,  and  Philip 
began  to  look  forward  to  his  winter's  work  in 
the  wood-lot.  He  longed  for  the  time  to  come 
when  he  should  be  less  under  his  master's  eye. 
At  length  it  came  ;  and,  with  something  of  alac- 
rity, he  took  up  his  accustomed  implements  and 
repaired  to  the  familiar  spot.  Here,  at  least,  no 
eye  would  be  looking  at  him,  and  he  could  work 
at  ease. 

Alas  !  the  very  silence  of  the  forest  rebuked 
him.  He  seated  himself  for  a  moment  upon  a 
log,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 
«'  What  shall  I  do  ? "  he  exclaimed.  "  I'm 
down  !  I'm  down  !  Is  there  no  help  for  me  ?  " 

A  rustling  sound  startled  him.  It  was  only 
a  rabbit.  But  the  sound  so  near  him,  together 
with  the  associations  of  the  place,  suggested 
Mr.  White.  "  Oh  I  if  I  could  only  see  him," 
thought  Philip,  "  he  could  tell  me  what  to  do." 


CONFESSION. 

Much  that  Mr.  White  had   said  to  him  of  sin, 

of  its  insidious   nature,  of  its   existence  within 

• 

us  as  a  fountain  of  evil  ready  to  overflow  at 
any  moment  if  the  restraints  of  Providence 
and  of  Christian  society  were  removed,  came  to 
his  memory.  Philip  had  not  half  believed  it 
then.  He  could  not  bring  his  mind  to  ac- 
knowledge, even  in  the  deepest  recesses  of  his 
secret  thoughts,  that  any  thing  so  hateful  as 
Mr.  White  pictured  sin  to  be,  harbored  in  his 
own  bosom.  But  now  he  saw  it.  That  he 
belonged  to  a  sinful,  ruined  race  came  over 
him  with  all  the  force  of  a  discovery.  His 
thoughts  went  even  farther  than  this,  so  that  he 
saw  and  felt  the  power  of  sin  in  his  own  heart. 
The  slightness  of  the  temptation  under  which 
he  had  yielded,  and  yielded,  too,  just  in  the 
very  point -upon  which  he  had  always  prided 
himself,  stung  him  keenly.  Goaded  by  his 
sorrow,  which  as  yet  was  only  remorse,  and  not 
repentance,  he  worked  fiercely,  and  by  midday 


220  LINSIDE  FARM. 

found  he  had  so  thoroughly  exhausted  himself 
that  he  should  with  difficulty  get  through  the 
day. 

At  length  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
would  conscientiously  try,  day  after  day,  to 
accomplish  more  than  could  reasonably  be 
expected  of  him  ;  and  so,  little  by  little,  he 
would  work  out  the  value  of  the  stolen  money, 
and  make  it  right  with  his  master.  He  tried 
this  expedient  for  a  time  ;  but  found  it  so  in- 
effectual in  quieting  his  conscience,  that  he  at 
length  gave  it  up  in  sheer  despair. 

That  money  !  It  haunted  him  like  a  ghost. 
It  was  in  his  room.  It  pursued  him  in  his 
work.  It  disturbed  his  very  dreams.  He 
dared  not  use  it,  nor  keep  it,  nor  destroy  it. 
It  seemed  as  if  it  would  forever  stand  between 
him  and  every  effort  to  rise. 

His  work  became  varied  in  its  monotony  by 
an  occasional  drive  to  town  with  a  load  of 
wood.  On  one  of  those  trips,  as  he  turned 


CONFESSION.  221 

homeward  after  having  delivered  his  wood,  a 
familiar  face  greeted  him  from  the  sidewalk. 
He  could  scarcely  believe  his  own  eyes  when 
his  old  friend  and  teacher  signalled  that  he 
would  be  glad  to  ride  home  with  him.  Philip 
stopped  to  take  in  his  welcome  passenger,  who 
had  come  back  on  some  matter  of  business,  and 
was  glad  to  ride  a  portion  of  the  way  to  his* 
old  neighborhood. 

After  sundry  questions  and  answers  respect- 
ing the  personal  welfare  and  prosperity  of  each, 
Mr.  White  suddenly  asked,  "  What  about  the 
mental  progress,  Philip?" 

"  Mr.  White,"  answered  Philip,  with  much 
agitation,  "  I'm  ruined." 

"  Why,  Philip,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

'•'  I'm  down,  Mr.  White ;  and  nobody  is  to 
blame  about  it  but  myself." 

Then  followed  the  whole  story  of  the  theft, 
of  the  way  in  which  he  had  been  led  to  it,  the 
suffering  that  had  followed,  and  the  perplexity 


222  LINSIDE  FARM. 

as  to  what  he  should  do  to  extricate  himself 
from  the  difficulty.  He  had  some  time  since 
come  to  the  conclusion,  that,  whatever  the  con- 
sequences might  be,  he  could  not  much  longer 
keep  his  secret ;  and  that,  if  he  could  meet  with 
Mr.  White  or  Mrs.  Hamilton,  he  would  seek 
advice. 

Mr.  White  listened  attentively  to  the  whole 
recital,  and  then  replied,  "  There  is  but  one 
way  for  you,  Philip.  You  must  go  to  Capt. 
Reeves,  and  tell  him  all  about  it." 

"  O  Mr.  White,  I  can't !  He  will  send  me 
to  jail." 

"  There  is  no  other  way,"  repeated  Mr. 
White  gravely.  "  You  remember  the  story  of 
the  prodigal.  If  you  don't,  you  can  read  it. 
You  will  find  that  the  very  first  step  he  took  in 
the  right  direction  was  to  go  and  make  con- 
fession." 

"  But  to  Capt.  Reeves,  Mr.  White !  Think 
of  it ! " 


CONFESSION.  223 

"  I  have  no  other  advice  to  give  you,"  replied 
Mr.  White,  as  he  met  Philip's  expectant  look. 

"  Well,"  answered  Philip,  "  it's  terrible  !  " 

"  It's  terrible  that  you  should  have  been  so 
overcome  by  the  power  of  sin.  But  if  you 
take  the  right  course  now,  Philip,  you're  not 
ruined.  No  one  can  be  hopelessly  ruined  at 
your  age.  This  very  act  of  yours  may  be 
made  the  means  of  showing  you  the  great 
power  of  the  enemy  you  have  within  ;  and  the 
law  you  have  violated  may  become  the  teacher 
to  lead  you  to  Christ.  You  should  not  stop 
short  of  that  faith  in  Christ  which  takes  away 
the  guilt  of  all  sin." 

Philip  made  no  reply,  and  Mr.  White  con- 
tinued :  — 

"  This  or  that  particular  outbreak  of  sin  fills 
us  with  horror ;  but  the  horror  should  be  that 
we  have  hearts  into  which  sin  has  found  en- 
trance. Sin  against  God  should  impress  us 
more  strongly  than  sin  against  a  fellow-being ; 


224  L1NSIDE  FARM. 

but  it  does  not.  Confession  and  restitution  is 
the  most  we  can  do  towards  a  fellow-being. 
Confession,  when  we  cannot  make  restitution, 
throws  us  upon  the  mercy  of  the  fellow-man 
whom  we  have  wronged.  Towards  God,  res- 
titution is  never  possible  ;  therefore  we  are  at 
once  thrown  upon  his  mercy  :  and  a  new  way 
of  restoration  to  his  favor  is  opened  through 
Christ." 

"  I  must  take  your  advice,"  replied  Philip, 
whose  mind  clung  tenaciously  to  the  one  phase 
of  sin  of  which  he  had  been  guilty.  "  At  least, 
I  will  try  to  bring  my  mind  to  it." 

They  had  reached  the  wood-lot,  where 
Philip  was  to  take  on  another  load  and  return 
to  town,  and  from  which  Mr.  White  was  to 
continue  on  foot  to  the  house  of  one  who  had 
been  his  neighbor  during  the  time  of  his  teach- 
ing in  that  vicinity. 

Philip  continued  his  employment,  feeling 
somewhat  lightened  by  the  resolution  he  had 


CONFESSION.  225 

taken,  though  quaking  with  dread  whenever  he 
thought  of  the  interview  before  him.  "  I  will 
do  it  this  very  night,"  he  repeated  again  and 
again  to  himself.  He  even  longed  for  night  to. 
come,  that  he  might  be  eased  of  his  terrible 
burden. 

At  length  it  came.  Philip  hastened  to  his 
room,  and,  to  fortify  himself  in  his  resolution, 
took  up  his  Bible,  and  read  the  parable  of  the 
prodigal  son.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he 
dwelt  with  special  delight  and  satisfaction  on 
the  closing  scenes  of  the  parable,  —  the  joyful 
reception  of  the  repentant  wanderer,  the  best 
robe,  the  ring,  and  the  fatted  calf ;  but  so  it  was. 

There  was  no  opportunity  that  night  for  his 
confession.  Jerome  was  at  home,  and  Mrs. 
Reeves  was  sitting  by,  and  Pauly.  Not  least 
in  the  array  of  difficulties  he  anticipated  was 
the  sorrow  he  was  sure  he  should  see  in  Pauly's 
eyes.  He  could  not  meet  that.  So  he  slept 
once  more  with  the  ghost  in  his  room. 

15 


226  LINSIDE  FARM. 

The  next  morning  he  went  resolutely  to  the 
captain,  as  he  was  busy  among  his  stock,  and 
laid  the  note  in  his  hand,  saying,  "  Capt. 
Reeves,  here  is  your  twenty  dollars.  I  stole  it 
in  the  field,  the  day  that  the  mouse  gnawed  your 
pocket-book.  I  am  very  sorry,  captain." 

He  dared  not  look  up  to  see  the  effect  of  his 
confession.  If  he  had,  he  would  have  seen  the 
captain's  face  grow  white  with  anger  while  he 
surveyed  the  repentant  boy  from  head  to  foot. 

"  This  is  your  honesty,  is  it  ?  "  he  exclaimed 
at  length.  "  You  stole  it,  did  you  ?  You  ras- 
cal !  You  made  me  trust  you  with  your  pre- 
tensions ;  and  this  is  the  way  it  turns  out. 
You  can  go  now.  I  shall  never  trust  you  nor 
anybody  else  again.  You  are  a  free  boy  now. 
You  can  go  where  you  please." 

"  Captain  ?  " 

"  No :  not  a  word.  You  wanted  to  be  free. 
You  talked  about  it  last  summer.  You  are  free 
now.  I  have  no  further  use  for  you.  Go 


CONFESSION.  227 

straight  to  your  room,  gather  up  your  traps,  and 
be  off." 

Philip  turned,  nearly  staggering,  and  started 
towards  the  house.  He  had  so  thoroughly 
wrought  up  his  mind  to  the  beautiful  picture  in 
the  parable  of  the  reception  of  the  penitent 
prodigal,  that  he  was  completely  stunned  and 
bewildered.  He  entered  the  house,  went  to  his 
room,  and,  taking  from  his  trunk  whatever  re- 
mained to  him  of  any  value,  he  tied  them  in  a 
bundle  and  came  down. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  dining-room,  not 
even  Pauly.  He  had  hoped  she  would  be  there 
alone.  He  passed  out,  and  turned  his  back 
upon  the  home  of  the  past  two  years. 

Yes :  he  was  free  now.  The  world  was  be- 
fore him.  It  was  what  he  had  many  times 
wished,  with  the  feeling  that  all  difficulties 
would  then  be  removed  from  his  path.  But  to 
be  houseless,  homeless,  friendless,  penniless,  was 
a  different  matter,  in  reality,  from  what  it  had 
been  in  his  boyish  anticipation. 


228  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Yet  lie  felt  relieved  from  the  terrible  load  of 
his  crime.  So  far  as  was  possible,  he  had  re- 
paired the  evil  deed  of  that  hour  that  had  caused 
so  much  distress.  Now  he  could  work ;  he 
could  go  down  to  the  most  abject  employment, 
if  necessary  ;  he  could  in  time  recover  the  repu- 
tation which  he  had  no  doubt  Capt.  Reeves 
and  Jerome  would  spare  no  pains  to  destroy. 

He  first  turned  his  steps  to  the  wood-lot, 
hoping  he  might  meet  Mr.  White.  He  had  no 
special  reason  for  expecting  him  there,  further 
than  the  fact  of  his  being  in  the  neighborhood. 
He  entered  the  wintry  solitude,  not  as  he  had 
done  so  many  times  before,  to  make  it  resound 
with  the  strokes  of  his  cheerful  labor,  or  re-echo 
his  merry  whistle,  but  to  sit  down,  a  sobered, 
thoughtful  boy,  to  wait  and  to  plan.  The  soli- 
tude seemed  melancholy  and  terrible.  He 
seated  himself  on  a  log,  hoping  Mr.  White 
would  appear. 

There,  in  the  silent  wintry  woods,  the  thought 


CONFESSION.  229 

of  God  came  over  him.  God  everywhere. 
God  there,  filling  the  lonely  forest  with  his 
presence.  God  over  all,  over  me  !  The  sensa- 
tion, so  new,  was  almost  overpowering.  What 
was  his  relation  to  that  omnipresent,  all-know- 
ing divine  Spirit  ?  Was  God  at  that  moment 
about  him,  in  him,  and  through  him,  reading 
and  knowing  every  thought  of  his  heart,  know- 
ing all  his  sin,  and  yet  sparing  to  punish  him  ? 
His  feeling  of  self-righteousness  was  gone. 
Nothing  remained  to  keep  him  from  falling  into 
the  depths  of  despair,  both  as  to  any  success  in 
life,  or  any  hope  in  the  dread  hereafter,  save 
the  mercy  of  God  towards  sinners,  revealed 
through  Christ,  and  made  effectual  to  the  soul 
by  faith. 

His  sense  of  the  presence  of  God  impelled 
him  to  take  his  Bible  from  his  bundle  and  read. 
Opening  at  hazard,  he  read,  "  Therefore,  being 
justified  by  faith,  we  have  peace  with  God, 
through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ."  "Ah!"  he 


230  LINSIDE  FARM, 

thought,  "  this  is  what  I  want.  I  want  peace 
with  God.  Since  he  is  so  near  me,  and  must 
be  for  ever  and  ever,  I  want  to  be  at  peace  with 
him."  He  read  on  and  on,  with  eager  earnest- 
ness, yet  not  with  haste.  Every  word  seemed 
illuminated  ;  it  all  met  his  own  case ;  it  was  evi- 
dent and  palpable  truth. 

Mr.  White  did  not  come.  After  a  while, 
Philip  began  to  be  glad  that  he  did  not.  A 
better  teacher  had  come  to  him,  even  the  Holy 
Spirit  of  God.  The  way  of  life  became  plain 
before  him.  Justification  by  faith,  the  new 
condition ;  no  longer  under  the  law,  but  under 
grace ;  the  service  of  love  following  the  work 
of  sanctification  through  the  Spirit ;  the  freedom 
forever  from  condemnation ;  the  life  of  holy 
consecration  to  the  worship  and  service  of  God  ; 
and  the  gift  of  God,  which  is  eternal  life. 

By  and  by  he  became  chilled.  This  re- 
minded him  of  his  homeless  condition :  yet, 
with  a  mind  strangely  at  rest,  he  rose ;  and,  tak- 


CONFESSION.  231 

ing  up  the  bundle  that  contained  the  sum  of  his 
worldly  possessions,  he  started  towards  town, 
determined  at  once  to  seek  employment.  It 
was  fully  three  miles,  following  the  road  that 
led  past  Linside  Farm.  This  he  wished  to 
avoid,  though  it  added  somewhat  to  the  dis- 

'  O 

tance.  After  taking  a  circuitous  route  till  he 
had  passed  the  farm,  he  again  sought  the  main 
road,  still  hoping  to  meet  Mr.  White,  who  might 
be  on  his  return  to  town.  In  this  he  was  dis- 
appointed. But  he  met  Jerome,  dashing  along 
towards  home,  with  one  of  his  companions  in 
his  buggy.  He  looked  at  Philip  with  some 
amazement,  and  gave  him  a  nod  of  recognition  ; 
but  he  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  friend  to 
give  any  further  heed  to  him. 

As  Philip  drew  near  town,  it  occurred  to  him 
to  seek  Mrs.  Hamilton's  assistance  in  his  search 
for  work.  She  had  befriended  him  at  one  time 
for  his  mother's  sake  :  perhaps  she  would  again. 
He  passed  on,  and  presented  himself  at  her 


232  .  LINSIDE  FARM. 

door.      He   was    in    his    working-garb.      His 

checked  shirt,  and  coarse  clothing,  and  rusty 
boots,  and  his  bundle,  contrasted  strangely  with 
the  pleasant,  tasteful  room  into  which  he  was 
ushered  to  await  Mrs.  Hamilton's  leisure.  How 
sweet  and  homelike  that  cosy  room  seemed! 
Philip  looked  about  him  as  if  to  take  in  a  full 
sense  of  enjoyment  during  the  few  moments  he 
expected  to  remain  there. 

Mrs.  Hamilton's  greeting  was  hardly  over, 
when  Philip,  to  explain  his  position,  said 
abruptly,  "  Mrs.  Hamilton,  I  am  without  any 
home  now,  and  without  employment.  Capt. 
Reeves  has  turned  me  off  for  stealing." 

Mrs.  Hamilton  raised  her  hands  in  amaze- 
ment. "  Suspicion,  you  mean,"  she  exclaimed  : 
"suspicion,  of  course." 

"  Not  suspicion,"  answered  Philip,  "  but 
actual  theft." 

He  then  related  in  full  the  crime  of  which 
he  had  been  guilty,  the  covetousness  which  had 


CONFESSION.  233 

led  to  it ;  not  at  all  excusing  or  defending  him- 
self. He  told  of  the  remorse  he  had  suffered, 
of  his  confession,  and  the  restitution  he  had 
made,  and  the  sudden  winding-up  of  his  rela- 
tions with  Capt.  Reeves ;  and  ended  by  asking 
her  if  she  could  direct  him  to  any  place, 
where  he  could  procure  any  kind  of  employ- 
ment. 

Mrs.  Hamilton  repeated  to  herself,  "  '  Breth- 
ren, if  a  man  be  overtaken  in  a  fault,  ye  which 
are  spiritual  restore  such  an  one  in  the  spirit 
of  meekness.'  '  "  How  much  more  a  boy,  an 
orphan  boy,"  was  her  mental  comment. 
Philip's  penitence  was  evident.  She  therefore 
refrained  from  overwhelming  him  with  re- 
proaches, while  expressing  her  sorrow  that  he 
should  have  been  so  overpowered. 

"  Would  you  choose  to  return  to  Capt. 
Reeves,  provided  he  could  be  prevailed  upon 
to  take  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I  should   not   choose   it,"   Philip   replied; 


234  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  but  I  am  willing  to  go  if  I  ought.  But  it 
seems  to  me  he  has  fully  released  me  ;  and  it  is 
just  what  I  have  many  times  wished  for." 

"  Yes  :   well,  we  will  try  something  else." 

She  then  sent  him  to  a  room  up  stairs  to  put 
off  his  coarse  and  soiled  working-apparel,  and 
make  himself  as  presentable  as  possible  in  his 
one  better  but  well-worn  suit.  Meanwhile  she 
put  on  her  bonnet  and  disappeared. 

When  she  returned,  Philip  sat  by  the  win- 
dow, reading  a  book  he  had  taken  from  the 
table. 

"  I  have  found  you  a  place,  Philip,"  said  she 
joyfully.  "  You  are  to  go  to-morrow.  Per- 
haps the  work  may  not  be  such  as  you  will 
like,  and  the  pay  is  small ;  but  you  can  make  it 
the  first  round  of  a  ladder,  if  you  choose." 

Philip  expressed  his  willingness  to  begin 
at  any  thing;  and  obtained  all  necessary  di- 
rections as  to  his  employment,  and  rose  to 
leave. 


CONFESSION.  235 

"  Where  are  you  going  now  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Hamilton. 

"I  —  indeed,  I  don't  know,"  said  Philip, 
hesitating. 

"  You  are  to  stay  here,  dear  boy,"  said  she, 
"  till  you  go  to  your  new  home  to-morrow 
morning.  What  did  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"  Only  to  walk  around,  and  pass  away  the 
time,"  he  answered  frankly. 

"  And  no  place  to  eat  or  sleep  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  as  to  that,  I  could  wait  till  to-morrow 
morning  for  the  eating ;  and  maybe  I  could 
find  some  place  to  sleep." 

"  Your  mother's  memory  shall  never  re- 
proach me  with  letting  you  do  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Hamilton  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  Sit  down, 
now,  and  make  yourself  at  home." 

Philip  had  had  no  dinner ;  but  Mrs.  Hamil- 
ton supposed  he  had  come  direct  from  the  farm, 
as  it  was  now  mid-afternoon.  He  cared  little 
for  the  want  of  a  dinner,  though  he  did  fee] 


236  LINSIDE  FARM. 

somewhat  hungry  after  his  morning  out  in  the 
cold  winter-air.  He  resumed  his  book,  but  his 
mind  wandered. 

"  Mrs.  Hamilton,"  said  he  at  length,  "  does 
Mr.  Fassett  know  all  abo.ut  it  ?  Must  every- 
body know  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Fassett  knows.  Everybody  need  not 
know.  But  it  is  better  that  he  should.  It 
would  not  be  treating  him  fairly  to  conceal  the 
matter  from  him.  But  he  is  willing  to  give 
you  a  trial,  especially  as  I  have  made  myself 
responsible  for  your  good  behavior,"  she  added, 
smiling. 

Philip  dropped  his  head  a  moment,  and  then 
replied,  "  A  year  ago  I  should  have  said,  with- 
out the  least  hesitation,  that  you  should  never 
have  reason  to  regret  it ;  but,  Mrs.  Hamilton,  I 
know  myself  better  now." 

Mrs.  Hamilton  was  touched  by  Philip's  hu- 
mility, but  only  answered,  "  There  is  a  source 
of  strength  higher  and  better  than  your  own. 


CONFESSION. 


237 


The  Lord  says,  '  Take  hold  of  my  strength.' 
Try  that,  Philip,  and  it  will  never  fail  you." 

"  Mrs.  Hamilton,"  he  answered  solemnly,  "  I 
will ! " 


238  LINSIDL  PAhM. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

A    NEW    OCCUPATION. 

'HE  next  morning,  Philip  presented 
himself  at  Mr.  Fassett's  grocery, 
where  he  had  been  engaged  as  boy  of 
all  work,  to  sweep,  to  trim  lamps,  to 
run  up  stairs  and  down  stairs  fcl  every  thing 
and  any  thing  that  might  be  wanted  :  in  short, 
to  bring  up  all  the  odds  and  ends  necessary  for 
keeping  the  extensive  and  busy  establishment 
in  order,  and  supplementing  everybody's  de- 
partment. 

Philip  knew  where  Mr.  Fassett's  store  was. 
Years  before,  he  had  passed  it  day  after  day, 
and  had  gone  there  many  times  to  make  little 
purchases  for  his  mother.  As  he  approached 
the  familiar  neighborhood,  he  seemed  to  see 


A  NEW  OCCUPATION.  -39 

himself  as  in  former  days,  a  light-hearted,  well- 
dressed  boy,  going  gayly  about  on  his  various 
errands,  or  to  and  from  school,  dodging  with 
home  familiarity  in  and  out  of  his  father's  hard- 
ware store,  now  just  across  the  street.  Yes, 
the  very  pavement  bore  the  impress  of  his 
boyish  feet.  His  footsteps  had  been  among  the 
many  that  had  worn  it  to  smoothness.  He  was 
speedily  compelled  to  banish  such  pictures  reso- 
lutely from  his  mind,  and  to  consider  himself 
then  and  now  almost  as  two  distinct  individuals. 
He  passed  on  till  he  stood  before  Mr.  Fas- 
sett's  door.  It  was  a  three-story,  double-front 
building,  with  windows  filled  with  a  tempting 
array  of  all  manner  of  provisions  for  family 
consumption,  from  raisins,  oranges,  and  other 
tropical  fruits,  through  the  whole  range  of 
specimens  of  teas,  coffees,  sugars,  spices,  and 
all  manner  of  tempting  delicacies.  The  two 
upper  stories  of  one-half  the  building  were  oc- 
cupied by  the  family  as  a  residence  ;  but  the 


240  •     LINSIDE  FARM. 

remainder,  as  seemed  evident  from  the  uncur- 
tained windows,  revealing  stacks  of  brooms, 
mop-handles,  baskets,  and  wooden-ware  of  all 
kinds,  were  storerooms  for  the  various  wares 
offered  for  sale  below.  As  Philip  entered,  it 
seemed  to  him  a  hopeless  task  to  think  of  ever 
learning  even  the  names  of  the  manifold  kinds 
of  merchandise,  to  say  nothing  of  the  prices 
affixed  to  each,  and  how  to  handle  them.  But 
his  occupation  at  first  did  not  extend  to  any 
thing  of  that  sort. 

Although  it  was  early,  Mr.  Fassett  was 
already  behind  the  counter.  Indeed,  it  seemed 
as  if  he  was  always  there,  superintending  his 
numerous  clerks,  and  keeping  in  hand  all  the 
various  departments  of  an  extensive  business. 
Yet  he  had  always  ready  a  pleasant  word,  or  at 
least  a  nod  of  recognition,  for  every  customer, 
and  seemed  least  busy  of  all  the  persons  there 
employed. 

Philip  presented  himself  at  once  to  Mr.  Fas- 


A  NEW  OCCUPATION.  241 

sett.  There  was  no  time  lost,  it  was  not 
three  minutes  till  Philip  found  himself  em- 
ployed in  unpacking  a  new  lot  of  crockery  that 
had  just  arrived  ;  and  so  clear  and  methodical 
were  Mr.  Fassett's  directions,  that  Philip  soon 
felt  as  much  at  home  in  his  new  employment  as 
if  he  had  done  nothing  but  unpack  dishes  all 
his  life. 

The  part  of  the  store  in  which  he  was  busy 
gave  him  full  view  of  the  whole  establishment, 
from  the  book-keeper  mounted  at  his  desk  to 
the  boys,  who,  though  younger  than  he,  held 
situations  similar  to  his  own,  or  who,  at  least, 
had  no  share  in  the  buying  and  selling  depart- 
ment. As  the  day  advanced,  purchasers  came 
thronging  in,  and  loungers  more  numerous 
than  purchasers.  The  boys,  at  least  four  of 
them  he  had  already  seen,  were  running  back 
and  forth,  loading  delivery-wagons  at  the  door, 
bringing  packages  of  goods  from  above  or  from 
the  cellar  beneath,  obeying  an  order  here  and 

16 


242  LINSIDE  FAJRM. 

another  there ;  and,  amidst  the  appearance  of 
confusion,  every  thing  and  everybody  moving 
.  with  an  order  and  precision  that  had  its  expla- 
nation in  Mr.  Fassett's  exhaustless  energy,  un- 
remitting attention,  and  thorough  system. 

Mr.  Fassett  made  no  allusion  to  Philip's  lost 
reputation.  At  first,  Philip  felt  every  one  in 
the  store  knew  all  about  it ;  but  as  he  found 
himself  quietly  installed  in  his  position,  and 
busy  at  once  with  various  matters  that  were 
ready  to  his  hand,  with  no  restrictions  and  no 
cautions  laid  upon  him,  he  began  to  breathe 
more  freely,  and  even  himself  forgot  the  shad- 
ow that  had  so  long  hung  over  him. 

Philip  had  been  so  long  without  any  home- 
feeling,  that  the  change  in  his  surroundings 
affected  him  less  than  it  would  many  boys  of 
his  age.  The  new  quarters  to  which  he  was 
assigned  in  the  house  of  Mr.  Fassett  were  in 
themselves  less  agreeable  than  those  at  Capt. 
Reeves's.  A  small  room  in  the  attic  was 


A  NEW  OCCUPATION.  243 

allotted  to  him,  with  no  prospect  from  its  win- 
dow but  neighboring  roofs  and  walls.  But  for 
all  this  he  cared  nothing. 

After  a  day  of  busy  activity,  he  entered  his 
room,  and,  closing  the  door,  found  himself  once 
more  alone.  "  God  over  all,"  he  thought, 
"  over  me."  "  Peace  with  God,  through  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ."  Kneeling  by  his  bedside, 
as  he  had  not  done  for  many  months,  he  con- 
secrated his  new  abode  with  a  thank-offering  of 
prayer. 

Mr.  Landon's  former  place  of  business,  and 
Mr.  Glenn's,  next  door,  were  nearly  oppo- 
site Mr.  Fassett's  grocery.  But  the  sight  of 
them  no  longer  moved  Philip.  He  felt  himself 
so  thoroughly  down,  in  consequence  of  his 
misconduct,  that,  for  weeks  past,  it  had  seemed 
to  him  that  by  no  possibility  could  he  ever  rise 
again.  The  thought  that  he  had  any  rights 
that  anybody  was  bound  to  respect  had  not 
once  occurred  to  him.  And  now,  beginning,  as 


244  LINSIDE  FARM. 

it  seemed,  a  new  life,  he  had  no  higher  ambi- 
tion than  to  rise  from  nothing  by  his  own  in- 
dustry and  faithfulness,  if  he  should  ever  rise 
at  all.  To  use  Mrs.  Hamilton's  figure,  his 
present  position  should  be  the  lowest  round  of 
a  ladder,  above  which  extended  an  indefinite 
series.  Whether  he  should  ever  rise  even  to 
the  second  step  must  depend  wholly  upon  him- 
self. 

He  discovered  at  once  that  he  was  to  be 
trusted.  It  was  made  his  duty  to  open  the 
store  in  the  morning,  and  sweep,  and  get  every 
thing  in  order  for  the  business  of  the  day.  At 
such  times  he  was  entirely  alone,  and,  for 
aught  he  knew,  plenty  of  money  in  the  drawers. 
At  least  he  was  trusted,  to  what  extent  he 
knew  not;  and  thus  felt  himself  so  far  restored 
to  his  old  standing,  that,  one  morning,  he  was 
surprised  to  find  himself  responding  as  of  old 
to  his  father's  injunction,  "I  will,  father:  I 
will." 


A  NEW  OCCUPATION.  245 

Yet,  for  some  reason,  he  knew  not  why,  he 
uttered  these  words,  or,  rather,  thought  these 
thoughts,  with  far  different  feelings  from  those 
he  had  formerly  experienced.  The  maxim  of 
his  life  then  had  been,  "  Honesty  is  the  best 
policy."  Now  it  was,  "  Not  with  eye-service, 
as  men-pleasers,  but  heartily,  as  unto  the  Lord." 
A  consciousness  of  the  presence  of  the  Lord 
seemed  to  invest  him  ;  and,  so  far  from  being 
terrifying,  it  was  pleasant.  "  He  shall  cover 
thee  with  his  feathers,  and  under  his  wings 

*  O 

shalt  thou  trust,"  would  have  expressed  his 
sense  of  the  presence  of  God  around  him. 
His  desire  to  live  honorably,  uprightly,  to  do 
his  whole  duty,  had  been  lifted  from  the  level 
of  policy  to  the  higher  level  of  Christian  duty  ; 
from  a  slavish  fear  of  crime  against  his  fellows 
to  a  service  of  love  to  the  Master,  who  was 
also  Saviour  and  Redeemer,  who  had  delivered 
him  from  the  law,  and  brought  him  under  the 
sweet  bondage  of  grace,  and  made  him  no 
longer  a  servant,  but  a  son,  free  indeed. 


246  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Yet  lie  was  so  ignorant  of  both  the  theory 
and  practice  of  Christian  life,  having  only  the 
recollections  of  his  early  boyhood  respecting 
his  mother,  and  the  suggestions  of  Mr.  White, 
to  enlighten  him,  that  he  did  not  recognize  in 
this  state  of  mind  the  very  essence  of  Chris- 
tianity, the  very  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  king- 
dom of  Christ.  He  had  as  yet  read  but  little 
of  the  Scriptures ;  but  that  little  was  sweet  to 
his  taste.  He  found  himself  drawn  at  once  to 
the  sanctuary,  with  all  its  various  appliances 
for  instruction  and  edification.  Though  his  one 
suit  of  clothes  was  a  little  outgrown  and  rusty, 
and  not  at  all  stylish,  yet  he  could  not  stay 
away  from  the  house  of  God.  Encouraged  by 
his  kind  friend  Mrs.  Hamilton,  and  by  others 
to  whom  her  interest  had  made  him  known,  his 
place  was  never  vacant. 

A  month  passed  by,  during  which  it  seemed 
to  Philip  that  he  had  lived  and  grown  old,  at 
least  a  year,  perhaps  two.  Not  in  any  unpleasant 


A  NEW  OCCUPATION.  247 

sense,  but,  rather  in  the  inspiring  feeling  given 
by  growth  in  mental  and  spiritual  knowledge 
and  activity.  During  the  two  years  he  had 
spent  with  Capt.  Reeves,  he  had  seemed  to  be 
stationary,  the  same  mere  boy  ;  or,  at  least,  to  be 
making  no  real  progress  in  preparation  for  the 
work  of  manhood. 

At  the  end  of  a  month,  Capt.  Reeves  sudden- 
ly appeared  in  the  store,  and,  to  Philip's  great 
astonishment,  greeted  him  with  a  hearty  shake 
of  the  hand. 

"  I've  been  looking  for  you  back,"  said  the 
captain.  "  I  thought,  before  this  time  you 
would  think  better  of  it,  and  come  back  to  fin- 
ish out  your  time  with  me." 

Philip  looked  up  amazed.  "  Why,  captain, 
didn't  you  say  I  was  free  ?  Didn't  you  send 
me  away? " 

"  Oh,  yes  I  I  believe  I  did.  I  was  mad  then. 
But  don't  you  know,  Philip,  I  hold  the  papers 

yet  ? " 


248  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Philip's  heart  sank  as  if  he  had  been  a  recap- 
tured prisoner.  The  fact  of  the  existence  of 
papers  binding  him  to  Capt.  Reeves  till  he 
should  be  of  age  had  once  or  twice  crossed  his 
mind  ;  but  he  had  dismissed  it,  thinking,  if  the 
captain  did  not  desire  his  services  longer,  the 
papers  could  do  no  harm. 

At  length  Philip  answered,  "  Why,  Capt. 
Reeves,  I  didn't  suppose  you  would  ever  want 
to  see  me  again.  I  wouldn't  have  dared  to 
come  back."  He  had  commenced  the  reply, 
intending  to  say,  "  I  didn't  suppose  you  would 
ever  trust  me  again :  "  but  Mr.  Fassett  was  by, 
and  one  of  the  boys  ;  and,  although  he  supposed 
the  captain  would  soon  proclaim  his  shame  to 
them  all,  he  could  not  do  it  himself. 

"  What  is  all  this  about  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Fassett 
at  length.  "  I  thought  Philip  was  fully  dis- 
missed from  your  service." 

"  Oh,  well !  "  answered  the  captain,  "  the 
truth  is,  we  did  have  a  little  falling  out,  and  I 


A  NEW  OCCUPATION.  249 

got  angry :  that's  my  failing ;  and  I  just  told  him 
to  go.  But  I  thought  he  would  come  be^o-incr 

*—  o  oO       O 

back  in  a  little  while.  I've  been  stuffy  about 
coming  after  him  ;  but  the  long  and  short  of  it 
is,  I  don't  know  how  to  get  along  without  him." 

','  I  don't  want  to  spare  him,  either,"  answered 
Mr.  Fassett. 

"  But  I  hold  the  papers." 

"  That  gives  you  an  advantage,  to  be  sure." 

Then  followed  a  long  conversation  between 
the  two  men,  in  which  the  justice  and  injustice 
of  Philip's  bonds  were  fully  discussed :  the 
fact,  that,  from  the  very  time  he  was  bound,  he 
had  been  fully  capable  of  earning  more  than  his 
board  and  clothes ;  that  there  had  been  no  period 
of  childhood  preceding,  during  which  obligation 
had  been  created  in  the  captain's  favor.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  fact  that  Philip  had  consented 
to  be  bound  ;  and  again,  in  Philip's  favor,  that 
that  consent  had  been  given  under  a  boyish  mis- 
conception of  the  duties  that  became  so  irksome 


250  LINSIDE  FARM. 

as  he  grew  older  :  with  many  other  points,  the 
bearing  of  which  the  captain  could  see  perfectly  ; 
for  nobody  had  a  keener  sense  of  justice  than  he 
had,  whenever  he  could  be  made  to  look  at  any 
question  in  its  own  proper  merits,  without  the 
bias  of  self-interest.  Besides,  the  captain  had 
a  keen  appreciation  of  his  estimation  among 
men  ;  and,  however  hard  and  exacting  he  might 
really  be  towards  those  in  his  employ,  he  shrank 
from  the  odium  of  being  known  in  that  light. 
He  could  justify  his  exactions  to  himself,  many 
times,  when  he  would  not  have  undertaken  to 
justify  them  in  the  view  of  others. 

He  had  missed  Philip  more  than  he  would 
have  been  willing  to  acknowledge.  Indeed, 
Philip  had  hardly  gone  out  of  sight  of  the  farm, 
when  he  regretted  the  words  he  had  spoken. 
He  had  never  told,  even  in  his  own  family,  of 
Philip's  fault ;  but  had  accounted  for  his  absence 
merely  by  saying  he  had  got  mad  and  run  off, 
but  would  be  back  soon.  Of  this  he  had  not 


A  NEW  OCCUPATION.  251 

the  slightest  doubt.  He  had  looked  for  him  day 
after  day.  He  had  appreciated  his  faithful  and 
undeviating  service,  though  so  carefully  conceal- 
ing his  estimate  of  it  from  Philip  himself. 

After  the  long  talk  between  Mr.  Fassett  and 
the  captain,  of  which  Philip  heard  nothing, 
having  gone  about  his  own  employments  as  soon 
as  the  captain  had  turned  from  him,  the  two 
gentlemen  took  their  hats  and  went  out ;  and, 
after  an  absence  of  some  length,  Mr.  Fassett 
returned  alone. 

Philip  met  him  with  an  inquiring  look,  to 
which  Mr.  Fassett  answered,  "  You're  not 
going,  Philip :  never  fear.  And  you'll  not 
hear  about  those  papers  again." 

Philip  answered  with  beaming  eyes,  "  Oh, 
thank  you !  "  though  he  had  no  idea  what  he 
was  thanking  him  for  ;  only  that  he  was  con- 
scious of  having  in  some  way  experienced  a 
great  deliverance  ;  and  he  knew  Mr.  Fassett  had 
been  an  active  agent  in  bringing  it  about.  He 


252  LINSIDE  FARM. 

afterwards  learned  that  they  had  gone  to  Mr. 
Glenn,  and  that,  in  some  way,  the  captain  had 
been  prevailed  upon  to  give  up  those  formidable 
papers  ;  and  that  now  he  was  in  reality  a  free  boy. 
His  employments  were  no  less  sordid  than 
those  at  the  farm.  Indeed,  they  were  more 
confining,  and  more  irksome  in  some  respects. 
He  missed  the  fresh  air,  the  health-giving  mus- 
cular activity  :  but  there  was  hope  -in  his  present 
labor ;  in  that  there  had  been  none.  Between 
him  and  other  boys  in  similar  situations  in  the 
store,  there  was  not  much  in  common.  Though 
he  was  a  poor  boy  not  less  than  they,  —  indeed, 
far  poorer  than  some  of  them,  —  yet  between  him 
and  them  there  was  that  immeasurable,  undefin- 
able  difference  that  springs  from  good  parentage 
and  good  early  training.  To  this  want  of  sym- 
pathy between  him  and  his  associates,  however, 
there  was  one  exception,  —  a  boy  some  years 
younger  than  himself,  slight,  frail,  evidently  not 
physically  equal  to  the  tasks  his  position  imposed 


A   NEW  OCCUPATION.  253 

upon  him,  yet  struggling  bravely  to  do  his  best, 
and  evidently  always"  in  fear  that  he  might  not 
be  able  to  fulfil  Mr.  Fassett's  requirements.  This 
boy  drew  Philip's  attention.  He  was  bullied 
and  imposed  upon  by  the  bigger  boys,  of  whom 
there  were  two  or  three,  in  various  capacities. 
But  Johnny's  pale  face  never  looked  to  Philip 
without  meeting  at  least  the  encouragement  of 
a  smile :  even  that  was  a  help  to  him.  It  was 
seldom  that  Philip  had  any  opportunity  of  com- 
municating with  little  Johnny,  whose  business 
it  was  to  drive  one  of  the  delivery-wagons. 
But  if  he  could,  by  any  possibility,  Philip  would 
manage  to  be  about  when  Johnny  was  gather- 
ing up  his  loads  ;  not  only  to  prevent  the  other 
boys  from  imposing  upon  him,  but  to  give  him 
a  lift  with  whatever  might  be  too  much  for  his 
strength. 

There  was  something,  strange  to  say,  in  the 
very  patches  on  Johnny  Krantz's  knees  that 
went  to  Philip's  heart.  He  was  seldom  with- 


254  LINSIDE  FARM. 

out  those  two  patches.  His  clothes  were  Sun- 
day clothes  until  they  began  to  give  out,  and 
then  the  patches  appeared,  and  they  were  work- 
day clothes  after.  The  patches  were  often 
worn  out  and  renewed  ;  but  always  so  neatly 
put  on,  that  Philip  never  looked  at  them  with- 
out thinking,  "  Johnny  has  a  good  mother. 
Ah  !  when  did  anybody  ever  put  on  a  patch 
for  me,  or  do  any  thing  else  for  me  such  as 
mothers  do?"  Yes:  Johnny  had  a  good 
mother ;  and  that  was  all  he  had. 

Johnny  appreciated  Philip's  friendship.  He 
was  a  sensitive  little  fellow,  and  had  many  a  sly 
cry  after  having  been  badgered  by  the  boys,  or 
after  going  through  his  weary  day's  toil,  as,- 
with  aching  limbs,  and  almost  in  a  state  of  ex- 
haustion, he  turned  his  steps  homeward.  But 
his  crying  was  always  finished  up  before  he 
reached  his  home,  and  he  was  ready  to  greet 
his  mother  cheerily.  He  had  often  wished 
to  take  Philip  with  him  to  his  humble  abode, 
but  had  as  yet  found  no  opportunity. 


A  NEW  OCCUPATION.  255 

Philip's  room,  as  has  been  said,  was  with  the 
family  of  his  employer,  and  above  the  store ;  so 
that  he  scarcely  had  occasion  to  go  into  the 
open  air  from  week  to  week.  His  out-door 
employment  had  given  him  a  robust  vigor  that 
seemed  capable  of  enduring  any  thing.  But 
the  close  confinement  was  just  the  one  thing 
he  could  not  endure ;  and  after  a  while  he  grew 
pale  and  thin,  and  his  buoyant  spirits  seemed  to 
forsake  him.  Mr.  Fassett  saw  at  once  where 
the  difficulty  lay,  and  made  it  a  rule  for  Philip 
never  to  let  a  day  pass  without  taking  at  least 
a  hasty  run  in  the  fresh  air.  'The  season  was 
not  the  busiest,  and  Philip  was  only  too  glad  to 
avail  himself  of  the  privilege.  His  "  runs  " 
were  varied  ;  sometimes  taking  him  through  his 
old  familiar  neighborhoods,  sometimes  through 
retired  streets  and  hitherto  unexplored  corners 
of  the  town.  On  one  of  these  excursions, 
turning  a  corner,  he  came  suddenly  upon  the 
delivery-wagon  of  which  Johnny  had  the  man- 


256  L1NSIDE  FARM. 

agement,  standing  before  the  door  of  a  small, 
one-story  house ;  and  Johnny  himself  was  just 
disappearing  within  the  door.  He  had  unex- 
pectedly stumbled  upon  Johnny's  home.  A 
package  of  goods  to  be  delivered  had  brought 
Johnny  directly  past  his  house ;  and  he  had 
darted  in  to  see  if  his  mother  wanted  a  pail  of 
water  or  an  armful  of  wood.  He  was  just  in 
time  to  fill  her  water-bucket,  and  came  out  as 
Philip  reached  the  gate. 

"  Hello  !  "  said  Johnny :  "  is  that  you  ? 
Look  here,  mother  :  here's  Philip." 

With  this  informal  introduction,  a  woman 
came  hastily  out,  and  greeted  Philip  warmly. 
She  was  an  exceedingly  plain-looking  German 
woman,  and  spoke  English  but  poorly  ;  but  she 
was  Johnny's  mother,  and  she  and  the  boy 
were  all  the  world  to  each  other.  Philip 
could  not  then  take  time  to  enter  :  but  he  had 
learned  the  way  ;  and  then,  jumping  on  the  ex- 
press wagon  with  Johnny,  they  drove  quickly 
back  to  the  store. 


A  NEW  OCCUPATION.  257 

u  I'm  so  glad !  "  said  Johnny  as  they  rattled 
along  together  in  the  unloaded  wagon  :  "  I'm  so 
glad  you've  seen  my  mother,  and  our  house, 
and  all !  That's  where  I  live  ;  and  I  think  it  is 
the  prettiest  place  in  town:  and  I  know  my 
mother  is  the  nicest  woman  in  town,"  he 
added  proudly. 

Philip  could  not  but  smile  at  Johnny's  ear- 
nestness. He  recalled  the  image  of  the  little 
house,  painted  in  some  peculiar  shade  that  he 
could  only  designate  as  pink,  with  its  little  en- 
closure in  front,  covered  then  with  frost  and 
snow,  but  showing,  through  this  covering,  the 
form  of  beds  that  in  summer,  he  had  no  doubt, 
would  be  gay  with  bright  flowers.  Then  the 
little  brown-faced  woman,  with  a  close  muslin 
cap  drawn  tightly  over  her  ears  and  tied  down 
with  tape  strings,  her  blue  woollen  short  dress, 
with  a  checked  handkerchief  crossed  over  her 
bosom,  her  coarse  shoes,  and  hard,  brown  hands 
completed  the  picture. 

17 


258  L1NSIDE  FARM. 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  asked  Philip,  seeing  no 
shadow  of  wavering  in  Johnny's  earnest  face. 
"  I'm  glad  of  it." 

"  You  ought  to  see  it  in  summer  !  "  continued 

O 

Johnny.  "  None  of  your  dusty  streets  :  all 
nice  green  grass ;  and  the  sun  shines  on  it  so 
pfetty  !  And  there  are  white  geese ;  and  we've 
lived  there  so  long,  —  mother  and  I ;  and  it 
rests  me  so  when  I  get  there  !  Where  do  you 
live,  Philip?" 

"  At  Mr.  Fassett's.     Don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  know  you  stay  there  now  ;  but 
I  mean  when  you  are  at  home." 

"  I  haven't  any  home,  Johnny.  My  father 
and  mother  are  dead,  and  I  haven't  any  home 
at  all." 

To  see  the  look  of  eafnest,  wistful  sympathy 
that  shone  in  Johnny's  eyes  as  he  turned  them, 
wide  open,  to  Philip's  face,  and  simply  an- 
swered, "  Oh ! "  was  a  pleasant  glimpse  of 
human  nature. 


A   NEW  OCCUPATION.  259 

"  He  pities  me,"  thought  Philip.  «  This 
poor  little  Dutch  boy  pities  me."  There  would 
have  been  something  humiliating  in  the 
thought,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  experience 
Philip  had  lately  gone  through.  As  it  was,  he 
was  willing  that  it  should  be  even  so. 

They  had  reached  the  store,  and  jumped  outr; 
Johnny  to  go  in  and  gather  up  another  load  for 
delivery,  Philip  to  resume  the  employment  he 
had  left. 

Another  day,  Philip  summoned  courage  to 
pass  the  very  gate  of  the  high-school  grounds. 
He  had  gone  in  that  direction  several  times 
before,  but  had  always  turned  off  at  some 
corner  before  reaching  the  spot.  But  now  he 
determined  to  break  over  the  feeling  that  had  so 
long  kept  him  away.  The  boys  were  just  dis- 
missed for  the  day,  as  -Philip  stood  before  the 
gate,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  He 
thought  how  many,  many  times  he  had  joined 
in  their  wild  frolic,  when,  years  before,  he  had 


260  LINSIDE  FARM. 

been  one  of  them.  It  was  the  very  same  set 
of  boys;  but  they  had,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  out- 
grown him  ;  he  standing  still,  and  they  continu- 
ing their  proper  career.  Many  of  them  he 
knew,  as  they  came  rushing  pell-mell  into  the 
street. 

He  was  nothing  to  them  now.  But  now 
a  shout,  now  a  laugh,  recognized  and  well 
remembered,  brought  back  to  him  his  own 
school-boy  days  ;  and  for  a  moment  he  stood  by 
a  tree,  and  looked  on  as  the  group  dashed  out, 
and  broke  away  in  various  directions  home- 
ward ;  those  of  his  own  age  maintaining  some- 
thing of  gravity  and  dignity  among  the  younger 
set. 

In  a  moment  they  were  all  gone.  The 
school-ground  that  had  re-echoed  with  their 
shouts,  and  resounded  with  their  noisy  tramp, 
was  silent ;  and  Philip  walked  on,  glancing,  as  he 
did  so,  up  to  the  cupola,  and  saying  to  himself, 
"  If  I  could  just  go  up  there,  and  look  towards 


A  NEW  OCCUPATION.  261 

Linside    Farm,   the    picture    would    be    com- 
plete." 

It  was  hardly  a  recreative  walk ;  and  Philip 
returned  to  the  store,  resolved  to  go  that  way 
no  more. 


262  LINSIDE  FARM. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

PHILIP'S    GUARDIAN. 

\f 

(HILIP    often    wondered    that    Mr. 

Glenn,  as  his  legally  appointed  guar- 
dian, and  his  father's  old  friend  and 
business-neighbor,  should  never  have 
manifested  the  slightest  interest  in  him  since  the 
memorable  day,  more  than  two  years  gone  by, 
when  he  drove  him  out  to  Linside  Farm,  and 
unceremoniously  dropped  him  at  the  gate.  He 
had  now  been  at  Mr.  Fassett's  two  or  three 
months ;  and  he  felt  quite  sure  Mr.  Glenn  must 
often  have  seen  him  passing  to  and  fro,  or  busy 
about  the  door  of  the  store. 

One  day,  as  Philip  was  about  his  usual  em- 
ployment, happening  to  glance  out  at  the 
window,  to  his  great  surprise  he  saw  Jerome 


PHILIP'S  GUARDIAN.  263 

Reeves  stop  his  horse  before  the  door,  spring 
out,  and  tie  him  with  an  important  air,  and 
enter.  He  glanced  around,  and,  seeing  Philip, 
came  to  him  at  once,  with  extended  hand.  His 
air  of  stylish  vulgarity  had  increased  upon  him, 
rather  than  diminished  ;  but,  notwithstanding  his 

'  *  O 

easy  freedom  and  foppish  dress,  and  Philip's 
own  work-day  apparel,  yet  Philip  met  him  with 
the  calm  dignity  of  one  who  felt  himself  an 
equal,  at  least,  if  not  a  superior.  Philip  was  at 
the  moment  very  busy,  unpacking  a  new  lot 
of  goods  ;  and,  after  the  first  greeting,  continued 
his  occupation  while  carrying  on  his  conversa- 
tion with  Jerome. 

"  What's  this  ? "  said  Jerome  at  length, 
catching  a  glimpse  of  the  gold  watch  which 
Philip  was  now  wearing,  having  found  himself 
in  need  of  a  timekeeper  about  his  daily  work. 
"  Seems  to  me  you  have  got  rich  fast.  Did 
Glenn  bestow  this  upon  you  to  keep  you  still  ?  " 

"  It  was  my  father's." 


264  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  You  don't  say  you  had  it  all  the  while  you 
were  at  the  farm  ?  " 

"I  did." 

"  If  I'd  been  you,  I'd  have  sold  it  and  had 
some  fun  out  of  it,  instead  of  moping  along  as 
you  did.  Why  didn't  you  take  the  good  of  it  ? 
Tell  me,  now." 

"  I  am  taking  the  good  of  it  now,"  answered 
Philip  quietly. 

"  Oh,  say ! "  said  Jerome  confidentially, "  don't 
you  want  me  to  take  hold  of  that  little  matter 
I  talked  to  you  about  one  day.  I'm  admitted 
to  the  bar  now,"  he  added  loftily,  "and  I  could 
work  it  up  for  you  if  you  like." 

"  I  don't  wish  it,"  answered  Philip. 

"  Just  as  you  like,  sir,"  replied  Jerome,  with 
stunning  magnificence.  "  If  you  should  ever 
see  the  day  that  you  desire  my  professional 
services,  just  remember  they  were  generously 
offered  you  once.  Good-morning ;  "  and  Jerome 
stalked  indignantly  out  of  the  store,  striking  his 


PHILIP'S  GUARDIAN.  265 

iron-shod  crutch  ringingly  on  the  floor  at  every 
step,  unhitched  his  pawing  horse,  and  was  off. 

"  Who  is  that  young  man  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Fassett. 

"  Jerome  Reeves,  son  of  the  captain." 

"  Have  you  any  business  on  hand  with  him?" 

"  Not  any." 

"  I'm  glad  of  it.  I  thought  I  heard  him 
talking  about  business." 

"  He  was,"  said  Philip,  laughing.  "  He  has 
been  trying  to  convince  me  that  Mr.  Glenn 
cheated  me  out  of  my  property  in  settling  up 
the  estate.  He  would  like  to  investigate  the 
matter  for  me." 

"  And  you  yet  a  minor  !  "  said  Mr.  Fassett, 
with  a  hearty  laugh. 

Philip  colored  a  little,  for  that  was  a  difficulty 
in  the  way  which  had  not  occurred  to  him. 

After  a  moment,  Mr.  Fassett  asked  again,  with 
some  earnestness,  "  Have  you  had  much  talk 
with  this  young  man  about  it  ?  Have  you 
made  any  statements  to  him  ?  " 


266  LINSIDE  FARM. 

u  None  at  all.  '  He  has  introduced  the  sub- 
ject to  me  once  or  twice  before  ;  but  I  know 
nothing  about  it,  and  could  say  nothing." 

"  I  should  hope  not.  Not  to  him,  not  to  him, 
whatever  you  do.  And,  Philip,  I  advise  you 
not  to  listen  to  any  thing  that  young  man  may 
have  to  say  about  Mr.  Glenn.  Mr.  Glenn  is 
peculiar,  but  that  young  man  is  not  trustworthy. 
I  know  his  haunts,  and  the  company  he  keeps, 
if  I  do  not  know  him  personally.  Mr.  Glenn 
knows  what  he  is  about." 

It  was  now  Philip's  turn  to  look  puzzled  ;  but 
Mr.  Fassett  had  turned  to  a  bill  he  was  inspect- 
ing, and  was  thoughtfully  repeating,  "  50  Ibs. 
sugar,  10  Ibs.  rice  ;  "  so  Philip  continued  his  own 
employment  in  silence.  But  he  found  himself 
constantly  repeating,  "  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Glenn 
did  cheat  me.  I  wonder  if  he  did." 

The  whole  subject  had  for  some  months  been 
banished  from  his  mind ;  but  Jerome's  pointed 
presentation  of  it,  and,  especially,  Jerome's  im- 


PHILIP'S  GUARDIAN.  267 

pressive  "  Just  as  you  like,  sir,"  had  revived  his 
former  reflections,  and  made  him  uncomfortable. 
He  was  not  now  in  the  same  needy  circum- 
stances as  when  the  suspicion  was  first  pre- 
sented ;  for  he  was  receiving  wages  that  met  his 
necessities,  and  he  looked  forward  with  confi- 
dence to  being  able  to  rise  from  one  degree  to 
another  in  his  occupation.  He  felt  no  uneasi- 
ness at  the  thought  of  his  oncoming  manhood. 
It  was  quite  different  from  his  connection  with 
Capt.  Reeves,  when,  as  he  looked  forward  to 
the  period  of  his  release  from  his  bonds,  he  saw 
himself  going  out  into  the  world  with  nothing 
more  of  worldly  fortune  than  his  "  freedom-suit 
and  Bible,"  which  he  remembered  hearing  read 
in  the  articles  of  his  agreement,  and  with  no 
knowledge  of  any  business  by  which  he  could 
earn  his  daily  bread,  other  than  to  become  a 
hired  farm-laborer.  But,  more  than  this,  the 
terrible  lesson  he  had  had  respecting  the  power 
of  covetousness  had  so  thoroughly  appalled 


268  L1NSIDE  FARM. 

him,  that  he  shrank  from  even  indulging  a  wish 
for  more  than  he  actually  possessed.  Still  more 
than  this,  since  that  memorable  time  he  had 
received  a  portion  so  exceedingly  rich  and  pre- 
cious, that,  in  comparison,  earthly  riches  seemed 
to  fade  to  an  insubstantial  and  unsatisfying  good. 
His  absorbing  thirst  for  money  was  gone. 

Philip  had  as  yet  but  two  visiting-places  in 
town ;  and  those  were  almost  at  the  extremes  of 
the  social  scale.  Mrs.  Hamilton's  was  like  a 
home  to  him,  and  a  few  moments  at  Johnny 
Krantz's  humble  home  gave  him  nearly  as  much 
pleasure.  Although  he  had  been  brought  back 
into  the  very  midst  of  his  former  companions 
and  schoolmates,  yet  the  two-years'  absence,  at 
that  age  when  two  years  make  so  great  a 
change,  together  with  his  altered  circumstances, 
had  produced  so  wide  a  gap  between  him  and 
them,  that,  although  he  often  met  them  in  the 
street,  or  saw  them  pass  the  store,  he  had  never 
been  able  to  summon  courage  to  call  the  at  ten- 


PHILIP'S  GUARDIAN.  269 

tion  of  any  of  them.  His  own  appearance  was 
much  changed  ;  and  it  was  easy  for  them  to  pass 
him  without  recognition,  when  he  purposely 
avoided  it.  Yet  as  time  passed  on,  and  he 
began  to  recover  his  self-respect,  he  questioned 
in  his  own  mind  why  he  should  hold  himself 
so  thoroughly  aloof.  He  had  even  gone  so  far 
as  to  meet  some  of  them  with  a  shake  of  the 
hand  ;  but,  as  yet,  he  had  set  his  foot  in  no 
house,  outside  his  own  abode,  save  those  two. 

It  was,  of  course,  only  by  occasional  special 
permission  that  Philip  had  opportunity  of  spend- 
ing any  time  at  Mrs.  Hamilton's.  But  Mr. 
Fassett  was  not  hard  with  his  boys.  He  knew 
the  necessity  of  occasional  relaxation.  He  re- 
membered that  he  was  once  a  boy  himself. 
Mrs.  Hamilton  had  especially  urged  that  Philip 
might  be  permitted  to  drop  in  occasionally  at 
tea-time,  without  the  least  formality ;  and  her 
invitations  were  gladly  accepted. 

On  the  occasion  of  his  first  visit  there  after 


270  LINSIDE  FARM. 

the  conversation  with  Jerome,  given  above, 
Philip  related  the  circumstance  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hamilton,  telling,  also,  of  the  suggestions 
Jerome  had  previously  thrown  out  respecting 
Mr.  Glenn. 

He  saw  some  significant  glances  pass  between 
the  two ;  but,  no  opinion  being  expressed,  he 
could  no  longer  restrain  his  impatience,  and 
asked,  "  Mr.  Hamilton,  what  do  you  think 
about  it?" 

"  About  Mr.  Glenn's  defrauding  you  ?  Well, 
really,  I  don't  know :  such  things  have  been 
done." 

Philip  grew  uneasy.  He  wished  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton would  come  at  once  to  the  point. 

"  I  would  not  like  to  say  any  thing  about  it 
to  show  such  a  suspicion,"  Philip  added  ;  "  but  I 
would  like  very  much  to  know  what  sort  of  a 
man  he  is." 

"  A  very  peculiar  man,  indeed  ;  a  man  that 
keeps  his  own  counsel.  It  would  be  difficult  to 


PHILIP'S  GUARDIAN.  271 

find  out  any  thing  about  his  business  that  he 
did  not  choose  to  tell." 

"  What  would  you  advise  me  to  do,  then  ?  " 
asked  Philip  anxiously. 

"  Nothing.  Just  nothing  at  all.  You 
couldn't  do  any  thing  till  you  were  of  age,  if 
you  knew  he  had  cheated  you." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Jerome  Reeves  ought  to  have 
known  that.  He  professes  to  be  a  lawyer." 

"  A  lawyer  !  "  laughed  Mr.  Hamilton.  "  A 
lawyer,  indeed ! 

**  The  truth  is,''  continued  Mr.  Hamilton, 
**it  did  occasion  a  great  deal  of  talk  among 
your  father's  friends,  when  Mr.  Glenn,  as  your 
guardian,  bound  you  to  Capt.  Reeves.  But  no 
one  could  question  his  right  to  do  so  if  he 
thought  best.  He  was  your  legal  guardian. 
Whenever  any  one  approached  him  on  the  sub- 
ject, he  said  it  was  your  choice ;  so  there  was 
nothing  further  to  be  said  about  it." 

Philip  laughed  ;  but  it  was  a  laugh  in  which 


272  LINSIDE  FARM. 

there  was  no  pleasure.  It  was  such  a  laugh  as 
one  may  use'  in  reviewing  a  folly  of  youth, 
when  it  comes  to  be  recognized  as  a  folly,  and 
when  its  consequences,  however  bitter,  have 
become  incorporated  among  the  experiences  of 
life. 

"  If  he  had  only  chosen  for  me ! "  said 
Philip.  "  What  did  I  know  about  it  ?  If  he 
had  only  put  me  in  school !  Oh  !  but  I  forget. 
He  said  that  was  impossible  just  then.  The 
only  choice  I  had  was  among  different  ways  of 
earning  my  living." 

"Well,  Philip,"  said  Mrs.  Hamilton  affec- 
tionately, "  you  had  better  dismiss  the  whole 
subject.  You  will  be  of  age  by  and  by,  and 
then  you  can  see  about  it." 

"  Ah  !  but,  Mrs.  Hamilton,  the  time  for  edu- 
cation will  have  gone  by  then.  Now  is  th« 
time  for  that." 

"  Yes,  Philip  :  I  know  all  that.  As  Mr.  Ham- 
ilton said,  Mr.  Glenn  is  a  very  peculiar  man. 


PHILIP'S  GUARDIAN.  273 

One  of  his  peculiarities  is  an  undervaluing  of 
education.  He  thinks  if  a  young  man  is  fitted 
for  some  honest  and  respectable  money-making 
business,  that  is  enough.  He  believes  in  teach- 
ing boys  to  be  self-reliant.  But  can't  you 
study  some  where  you  are,  Philip  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Hamilton.  I  tried 
that  once,"  said  Philip,  laughing  now  at  the 
recollection  of  that  which  had  been  to  him  so 
severe  a  trial  at  the  time.  He  went  on  to  tell 
Mrs.  Hamilton  of  his  effort  to  study  at  his 
work,  and  of  the  loss  of  his  book  in  conse- 
quence. All  this,  as  a  disclosure  of  the  char- 
acter of  Capt.  Reeves,  was  simply  amusing  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamilton. 

"  However,"  she  added,  "  I  advise  you  to 
try  again.  Mr.  Fassett  is  a  different  man  from 
Capt.  Reeves." 

The  supper  was  ended  ;  and,  as  the  privilege 
of  making  these  informal  visits  did  not  release 
Philip  from  the  necessity  of  returning  as  soon 

18 


274  LINSIDE  FARM. 

as  the  meal  was  over,  he  put  on  his  cap,  and 
walked  briskly  back,  revolving  over  and  over 
in  his  mind  the  probabilities  as  to  Mr.  Glenn 
being  a  cheat  and  a  defrauder.  "  Peculiar  !  " 
he  exclaimed  as  he  hurried  along.  "  I  sho.uld 
think  he  was  peculiar.  Well,  if  he  enjoys  his 
ill-gotten  gains  as  little  as  "  —  His  half-audible 
voice  subsided  to  a  mere  thought  as  he  finished 
the  sentence  with  an  allusion  to  the  twenty- 
dollar  note  that  had  for  a  time  lain  so  heavily 
on  his  heart ;  and  he  felt  disinclined  to  pursue 
the  subject  of  Mr.  Glenn's  dishonesty  any 
further. 

A  few  minutes'  walk  brought  him  opposite 
Mr.  Glenn's  place  of  business  ;  but  he  was  not 
in  sight.  He  rarely  was,  from  the  street.  His 
place  was  always  in  the  assiduous  pursuit  of  his 
occupation,  wherever  its  demands  met  him. 
People  said  he  was  close  and  avaricious.  Per- 
haps he  was :  else  why  should  he  have  fleeced 
Philip? 


PHILIP'S  GUARDIAN.  275 

Philip  found  work  waiting  for  him.  There 
were  orders  to  be  filled,  packages  to  be  made 
up,  and  a  multiplicity  of  odds  and  ends  to  be 
attended  to,  just  such  as  Mr.  Fassett  had  fallen 
into  the  habit  of  intrusting  to  Philip,  on  ac- 
count of  his  systematic  and  orderly  habits. 
Philip  soon  ceased  thinking  of  Mr.  Glenn  and 
of  his  own  lost  fortune ;  and  found  himself 
growing  quite  cheerful,  and  in  good-humor 
with  the  world,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Glenn,  as  he 
busied  himself  with  his  various  occupations. 

Johnny's  day  was  finished.  His  express- 
wagon  was  housed,  and  his  horse  put  up ;  and 
the  little  fellow  came  back  from  the  performance 
of  these  duties,  through  the  store,  on  his  way 
home.  Philip's  eye  rested  for  a  moment  on  the 
features  of  his  little  comrade ;  and  he  thought 
he  looked  graver  and  paler  than  usual. 
Johnny  also  looked  at  him  with  a  wistful 
expression,  and  Philip  said  in  his  cheeriest  tone, 
"  Going  home,  Johnny  ?  " 


276  LINSIDE  FARM. 

The  boy  came  nearer,  and  dropped  on  a  box 
close  by  Philip,  his  large  blue  eyes  swimming 
with  tears. 

"  Why,  Johnny,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked 
Philip,  dropping  the  hatchet  with  which  he  was 
nailing  up  a  box  of  goods  for  a  country  grocer. 
"  Have  those  boys  been  bullying  you  again  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  nothing  about  them  boys," 
said  Johnny,  struggling  manfully,  and  choking 
down  his  feelings  of  weariness  and  discourage- 
ment. "But  I  wish  you'd  come  and  see 
mother.  She  ain't  very  well ;  and  she  has  to 
work  so  hard  !  "  And  the  tears  threatened  to 
come  again. 

"I  will,"  said  Philip.  "I  will,  the  first 
chance  I  can  get.  Now,  you  run  home,  and  be 
cheerful.  I  know  you  are  tired,"  Philip  added, 
as  he  looked  at  the  drooping  boy  ;  "  but  try  to 
be  bright,  and  cheer  your  mother  ;  won't  you  ? 
That's  the  best  thing  you  can  do  for  her.'' 

Philip's    bright   face    brightened    Johnny's ; 


PHILIP'S  GUARDIAN.  277 

and  he  sprang  up,  almost  forgetting  his  weari- 
ness, and  started  homeward. 

Although  Philip  had  cheered  him,  yet  his 
wan  face  haunted  Philip  afterwards,  and 
brought  to  his  remembrance  some  of  his  own 
dismal  days  and  nights,  when  he  would  have 
given  much  for  the  help  of  a  sympathizing 
friend.  His  thoughts  ran  forward  to  the  possi- 
bility that  Johnny  might  be  left  alone  in  the 
world,  as  he  had  been  ;  and  he  felt  how  truly 
every  heart  must  bear  its  own  burden,  much  too 
heavy  though  it  may  be.  Again  he  remem- 
bered the  support  and  strength  he  had  derived 
from  the  consciousness  of  God's  love  manifested 
through  Christ,  who  had  taken  away  the  guilt 
of  all  his  sins.  "  I  wonder,"  he  thought  at 
length,  "  if  Johnny  and  his  mother  have  any 
such  comfort." 

The  next  morning  Philip  was  startled  by  the 
apparition  of  Mr.  Glenn.  That  gentleman 
came  hurriedly  towards  him  with  a  "  Good- 


278  LINSIDE  FARM. 

morning,"  as  if  it  had  been  but  a  week  since 
he  had  had  a  conversation  with  him. 

Philip  responded  somewhat  coldly  to  his 
greeting,  and  stood  for  a  moment  looking,  as  if 
to  say,  "  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 

"  So  you  ran  away  from  Capt.  Reeves,  did 
you  ?  "  he  said. 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Philip  firmly  :  "  he  dis- 
missed me." 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  recollect  now,"  said  Mr. 
Glenn,  passing  his  hand  through  his  hair,  as  if 
to  recover  his  faculties.  "  I  remember  now 
how  it  was.  There  was  a  difficulty  between  you 
and  him  ;  wasn't  there  ?  Oh,  yes  !  I  know  now. 
Well,  Philip,  I've  kept  my  eye  on  you  all  the 
time,  though  I  suppose  you  didn't  think  so,  did 
you?" 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Philip  frankly.  "  I 
don't  know  that  I  had  any  reason  to  suppose 
you  ever  thought  of  me." 

"  But  I  did,"  answered  Mr.   Glenn  with  a 


PHILIP'S  GUARDIAN.  279 

peculiar  twinkle  in  his  keen  gray  eyes,  and  an 
incomprehensible  expression  about  his  mouth. 
"  I've  kept  my  eye  on  you.  I  saw  you  riding 
out  one  Sunday  with  Jerome  Reeves." 

"  Only  once,  sir,"  said  Philip. 

"  It  was  well  that  it  was  only  once,"  he 
replied,  in  the  same  quick,  nervous  manner. 
"  Yes,  it  was  well.  It  wouldn't  have  taken 
many  such  rides  to  land  you  in  ruin." 

"  I  know  it,  sir.  I  felt  it  then.  I  had  no 
money,"  said  Philip,  "  or  I  might  have  done 
worse." 

Philip  scarcely  knew  why  he  said  this.  But 
somehow  he  felt  a  peculiar,  grim  pleasure  in 
saying  to  Mr.  Glenn's  very  face,  and  in 
jerking  out  the  words  with  peculiar  emphasis, 
"  I  had  no  money,  sir." 

But  Mr.  Glenn's  countenance  did  not 
change.  He  simply  replied,  "  Ah  !  then  it  was 
well  that  you  had  none.  Many  young  men 
are  ruined  by  having  money.  Yes,  that  was 


280  LINSIDE  FARM. 

well  too.  You  didn't  like  it  out  there,  did 
you?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Are  you  satisfied  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  well  too.  I  haven't  come  near 
you  since  you  came  here.  I  thought  I'd  wait 
and  see  if  you  staid.  I  don't  like  fickleness." 

"  Nor  I,  sir." 

"  So  I've  kept  an  eye  on  you,  to  see  if  you 
would  stay  here." 

Philip  worked  on  through  all  the  conversa- 
tion, only  now  and  then  lifting  his  eyes  to  Mr. 
Glenn's  face. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Mr.  Glenn  after  a  pause. 
"  You've  been  out  of  school  near  three  years, 
haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Four  years  next  spring,  sir." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  I  remember.  Well,  you're  get- 
ting old  enough  to  appreciate  learning  and  im- 
prove advantages  now.  Would  you  like  to  go 
to  school  any  more  ?  " 


PHILIP'S  GUARDIAN.  281 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can.  I've  laid  up  noth- 
ing, though  I've  been  hoping  I  could  lay  by 
enough  to  go  again  after  a  while." 

"  Well,  I'll  just  tell  you  how  it  is.  A  little 
debt  to  the  estate  has  just  come  in,  that  I  didn't 
suppose  was  good  for  any  thing :  enough,  may 
be,  to  keep  you  along,  and  furnish  you  books 
and  clothes  for  a  while,  if  you  want  to  go." 

"  But  my  board,  Mr.  Glenn  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I've  thought  of  that  too.  Well,  I've 
a  horse,  and  a  cow,  and  wood  to  cut,  and  all 
such  things ;  and  I  thought  if  you  would  like  to 
come  and  live  with  me,  and  be  chore-boy,  and 
go  to  school,  that  would  make  it  right  all 
around." 

Philip  thought  a  few  moments.  Recollec- 
tions of  a  few  weeks  of  misery  at  Mr.  Glenn's, 
after  the  breaking-up  of  his  own  home,  came 
over  him  with  irresistible  power ;  weeks  of 
such  misery,  that  Linside  Farm,  at  least  in 
prospect,  seemed  a  paradise  in  comparison. 


282  LINSIDE  FARM. 

All  this  passed  swiftly  in  review ;  and  he 
replied,  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Glenn  ;  hut  I  have  a 
good  situation  now,  that  I  can't  afford  to  lose  at 
present.  I  think  I  must  wait  for  some  other 
opening,  or  else  be  content  with  the  studying 
I  can  do  by  myself." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,"  answered  the  gen- 
tleman. "  Remember  that  I  made  you  the 
offer.  Good-morning,  Philip.  I  shall  keep 
my  eye  on  you." 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Glenn,"  answered 
Philip  as  politely  as  possible  ;  and  Mr.  Glenn 
turned  his  back  and  walked  out  of  the  store. 

Philip  worked  desperately  for  a  few  minutes, 
seizing  a  hatchet,  and  driving  some  unnecessary 
.nails,  just  to  work  off  his  excitement. 

"  A  little  debt  has  come  in,  has  it  ?  A  little 
something  due  the  estate  ?  Conscience  !  Yes  ; 
that's  conscience !  He  knows  he  has  robbed 
me.  I  wish  he  would  take  his  eye  off  me,  and 
keep  it  off  forever." 


PHILIPS  GUARDIAN.  283 

"  He  needn't  trouble  himself  about  me,"  his 
thoughts  broke  out  again  and  again.  "  Pecu- 
liar !  Yes,  I  think  so.  He  can  keep  the  little 
debt  along  with  the  rest.  Conscience  !  Yes : 
ah  !  I  know  what  conscience  is !  " 

This  last  thought  came  to  his  mind  with 
subduing  power.  Yes,  he  well  knew.  His  ex- 
cited features  and  tense  muscles  relaxed  ;  and 
he  subsided  into  his  ordinary  self,  and  re- 
proached Mr.  Glenn  no  further. 

Philip  had  not  noticed  that  his  pale-faced 
little  friend  Johnny  had  passed  and  repassed 
him  several  times,  loading  up  his  express- 
wagon.  Now  Philip's  ears  caught  the  words, 
"  Tug  away,  my  hearty  !  yo,  heave  ho !  "  and, 
looking  around,  he  saw  Johnny  endeavoring  to 
carry  a  heavy  box  from  the  rear  of  the  store  to 
place  it  in  his  wagon.  The  little  fellow  was 
bravely  straining  eveiy  muscle,  but  making 
very  little  progress ;  and  two  other  boys,  who 
happened  at  the  moment  to  be  idle,  were 


284  LINSIDE  FARM. 

taunting  him,  and  amusing  themselves  at  his 
expense. 

Philip  seized  one  end  of  the  box  ;  and  he  and 
Johnny  carried  it  triumphantly  to  its  place,  and 
slipped  it  into  the  wagon.  Johnny  turned  his 
grateful  face  and  thanked  him  heartily,  and 
sprang  on  his  wagon  and  was  off. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Glenn  had  gone  to  his  desk, 
and  opened  one  of  his  massive  books,  and  made 
an  entry  there  against  Thomas  H.  Glenn,  Dr. 


BEARING  ANOTHER  'S  BURDENS.       285 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

BEARING  ANOTHER'S  BURDENS. 

ATURDAY  night  was  always 
a  busy  time.  Everybody  always 
wanted  something  Saturday  night: 
and,  besides  waiting  on  the  aforesaid 
somebody,  all  the  tangles  of  the  week  had  to 
be  straightened  out  on  Saturday  night.  Philip, 
in  the  course  of  a  year,  had  been  found  much 
too  acute  and  too  active  to  be  retained  in  the 
capacity  in  which  he  had  first  entered  the  store, 
though  he  still  nominally  held  the  same  posi- 
tion. He  opened  the  store  in  the  morning,  and 
closed  it  at  night,  and  had  still  much  rough 
work  to  do  ;  but  he  was  often  called  upon,  in  an 
emergency,  to  perform  other  duties  not  alto- 


286  LINSIDE  FARM. 

gether  in  his  line.  He  could  smile  now  at  the 
task,  which  seemed  little  short  of  impossible 
when  he  first  entered,  of  learning  the  names 
and  prices  and  places  of  all  the  various  wares 
of  the  establishment.  No  one  knew  more 
readily  than  he  where  to  find  whatever  was 
wanted,  and  how  to  weigh  out  and  wrap  up 
with  neatness  and  despatch. 

Johnny  and  the  other  boys  were  generally 
kept  at  their  posts  some  later  on  Saturday 
nights  than  others.  It  was  on  one  of  those 
busy  nights  that  Johnny"  came  running  in,  in 
breathless  haste,  after  his  short  interval  for 
supper,  which,  indeed,  on  this  occasion  he  had 
scarcely  made  over  ten  minutes,  coming  and 
going  included.  He  looked  flushed  and  excited, 
and  made  straight  to  where  Philip  was  weigh- 
ing out  half  a  pound  of  tea. 

"  Could  you  get  me  off  to-night,  Philip  ?  " 
he  asked  eagerly. 

"Off?    For  what?" 


BEARING  ANOTHER'S  BURDENS.      287 

"  To  go  home.  Mother  is  sick,  —  so  very 
bad  !  "  he  whispered. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  Mr.  Fassett  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I'm  afraid.  One  of  the  boys  asked 
him  once,  and  he  wouldn't  let  him  go.  Won't 
you  ask  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  directly." 

Philip  finished  waiting  on  his  customer ; 
another  and  another  was  in  a  hurry  for  sundry 
articles,  and  Philip  had  nearly  forgotten  his 
little  friend's  request,  till  his  eye  happened  to 
rest  on  Johnny's  little  crouching  figure  on  a 
box  near  him,  following  with  dilated  eyes  every 
motion  of  the  busy  boy.  He  snatched  a 
moment,  and  begged  his  release  of  Mr.  Fassett. 

"What  for?"  asked  the  .merchant.  "To 
go  to  some  circus,  likely.  No." 

"  His  mother  is  very  sick." 

"  I  wonder  if  she  really  is  ?  "  said  Mr.  Fas- 
sett  thoughtfully. 

"  I  think  Johnny  can  be  trusted,"  answered 
Philip  timidly. 


288  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  Yes,  I  think  he  can.  Tell  him  to  put  up 
his  horse,  and  go  directly  home." 

Johnny  darted  away  as  soon  as  he  had 
received  the  permission,  and  in  a  very  short 
time  was  back,  having  put  every  thing  away 
snugly  for  the  night. 

He  whispered  to  Philip  as  he  passed,  "Won't 
you  come  to-morrow  ?  " 

Philip  answered  "  Yes,"  and  Johnny  was 
gone.  Philip  saw  the  little  trembling  figure  for 
a  moment,  darting  away  beneath  the  gas-lights, 
and  wished  he  could  go  with  him,  and  see  how 
matters  were  at  home.  But  the  hurry  of  busi- 
ness went  on  around  him,  and  poor  little 
Johnny  was  soon  out  of  mind. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  Philip  set 
out  to  fulfil  his  promise  to  Johnny.  It  was  a 
balmy  spring  Sabbath.  The  winter  was  over 
and  gone.  The  sweet  spring  air  reminded 
Philip  of  market-gardens  and  market-stalls,  and 
the  various  successes  and  discouragements  of 


BEARING  ANOTHER  'S  BURDENS.       289 

his  small  traffic  in  lettuce  and  radishes,  and 
small  accounts  to  be  rendered  up  to  exacting 
and  watchful  masters.  He  turned  to  cross  the 
street,  stopping  a  moment  to  wait  as  a  horse 
and  buggy  passed  him  with  a  flash.  A  familiar 
nod  greeted  him.  Two  young  men  sat  in  the 
buggy.  One  of  them  was  Jerome  Reeves ;  and 
"  the  other,"  thought  Philip,  "  two  years  ago, 
was  I."  How  far  removed  from  his  present  life 
seemed  that  ghastly  Sabbath  of  his  memory ! 
How  remote  all  the  associations  that  came  with 
it !  He  shuddered  as  he  remembered  that  a 
few  more  steps  in  that  same  course  might  have 
sent  him  to  ruin  forever.  He  wondered  that 
he  should  ever  have  felt  a  single  pang  of  envy 
towards  Jerome  ;  but  he  knew  he  had.  Now 
he  felt  rescued  and  saved  :  not  by  any  power 
of  his  own,  not  by  any  thing  in  which  he  could 
glory,  save  as  a  redeemed  soul  may  glory  in 
recovering  grace. 

" 4  Who  maketh  thee  to  differ  from  another  ? 

19 


290  LINSIDE  FARM. 

and  what  hast  thou  that  thou  hast  not  re- 
ceived?'" he  asked  of  himself,  as  his  eye  fol- 
lowed the  receding  carriage,  soon  out  of  sight. 

Philip  in  a  few  minutes  was  away  from  the 
business-streets,  and  beyond  the  homes  of  the 
wealthy  and  fashionable.  A  Sabbath  quiet 
seemed  to  rest  over  every  object,  and  stole  into 
his  heart.  Fragments  of  divine  truth  came  one 
after  another  to  his  mind,  and  were  to  his  taste 
as  honey  and  the  honeycomb.  The  thought  of 
his  own  rescue  from  courses  of  sin  was  over- 
powering. The  consciousness  of  redemption 
through  the  blood  of  Christ  filled  and  possessed 
him  with  surpassing  sweetness. 

He  did  not  wonder,  as  he  drew  near 
Johnny's  dwelling,  that  the  boy  had  thought  it 
the  prettiest  place  in  all  the  town.  The  tender 
green  of  the  young  grass  under  the  spring  sun- 
light was  refreshing  to  both  eye  and  spirit. 
The  light  and  joy  of  his  own  heart  seemed  to 
transfigure  every  object  around  ;  and  the  world 


BEARING  ANOTHER'S  BURDENS.       291 

in  which  Christ  had  lived  and  in  which  Christ 
had  died  seemed  beautiful  enough  to  fill  and 
satisfy  forever,  if  only  sin  were  banished. 

When  Philip  reached  the  door,  it  was  opened 
by  Johnny  himself.  His  pale  face,  with  large 
dark  rings  around  his  eyes,  alarmed  Philip,  con- 
vincing him  that  the  boy  himself,  as  well  as  his 
mother,  was  ill.  Johnny's  countenance  so  im- 
pressed him,  that  he  entered  on  tiptoe,  scarcely 
daring  to  inquire  of  his  little  work-fellow  how 
his  mother  was.  She  was  lying  on  a  high,  old- 
fashioned  bed,  covered  with  a  woollen  coverlet, 
in  contrast  with  the  gay  colors  of  which  her 
white,  death-like  face  was  absolutely  startling. 
Some  kind-hearted  neighbor-women  were  caring 
for  her ;  and  little  Johnny  was  quite  at  liberty, 
and  so  much  the  more  miserable.  When  the  boy 
had  reached  his  home  at  supper-time,  the  previ- 
ous evening,  he  had  found  her  in  the  very  agony 
of  a  severe  attack  of  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs. 
The  compassionate  woman  whom  she  had 


292  LINSIDE  FARM. 

barely  been  able  to  call  from  the  next  house 
was  kneeling  over  her ;  and,  as  Johnny  opened 
the  door,  she  had  endeavored  to  screen  from 
him  the  appalling  sight ;  but  he  had  sprung  at 
once  to  his  mother's  side  with  a  scream  of 
horror.  It  was  only  on  being  warned  of  the 
injury  he  would  do  her,  that  he  had  been 
calmed.  He  had  sljpped  out  at  the  door  to 
hide  a  burst  of  tears  ;  and  then,  finding  he 
could  be  of  no  immediate  service,  had  darted 
back  to  the  store  to  obtain  his  release  for  the 
evening,  in  order  that,  if  he  could  not  help  her, 
he  could  at  least  be  near. 

Mrs.  Krantz  was  forbidden  to  speak  ;  but  she 
raised  her  hand  to  Philip,  —  the  same  brown, 
bony  hand  that  had  grasped  his  many  times 
before.  Its  grasp  was  weak  and  languid  now : 
before,  it  had  sometimes  made  him  wince. 

She  then  reached  out  her  finger,  and  pointed 
to  a  verse  in  an  open  Bible  that  lay  near  her. 
It  was  a  German  Bible,  and  Philip  could  not 


BEARING  ANOTHER  'S  BURDENS.       293 

read  it ;  but  he  could  make  out  the  beloved 
name,  Jesus  Christ,  and  he  knew  then  where 
her  source  of  comfort  lay. 

Philip  felt  compelled  to  say,  "  I  hope  Christ 
is  with  you." 

She  could  not  answer ;  but  she  looked  up 
with  a  gleam  of  light  in  her  eyes,  and  again 
traced  with  her  finger  some  comforting  verse  in 
her  Bible  :  and  then  clasped  her  hands  with  an 
expression  of  perfect  rest  and  peace. 

It  was  the  first  time  Philip  had  ever  made 
bold  to  speak  to  any  one  of  that  love  of  the 
Saviour  which  lay,  a  priceless  treasure,  a  silent 
joy,  in  his  own  heart.  But  in  the  very  act  of 
speaking  just  those  simple  words  he  felt 
blessed. 

Philip's  visit  was  not  long.  No  conversation 
could  be  carried  on,  except  with  Johnny ;  the 
woman  who  was  waiting  upon  Mrs.  Krantz  not 
understanding  a  word  of  English,  and  Mrs. 
Krantz  herself  being  unable  to  speak.  Johnny 


294  LINSIDE  FARM. 

followed  Philip  out  as  he  left,  saying,  as 
they  reached  the  open  air,  "  O  Philip,  I'm  so 
lonesome  !  "  But  the  burden  of  his  care  and 
anxiety  no  one  could  share  with  him  ;  and, 
with  Some  cheering  words,  Philip  passed  on. 
He  took,  in  his  way  home,  the  street  in  which 
he  used  to  live,  and  passed  the  very  house. 
Strange  faces  were  looking  out  at  the  windows ; 
and  the  sight  wakened  anew  his  revengeful  feel- 
ings towards  Mr.  Glenn. 

He  passed  on,  by  Mr.  Glenn's  house,  a  plain, 
unpretending,  though  comfortable  white  frame 
house.  There  was  nothing  there  to  provoke 
envious  feelings.  There  was  no  show  of 
wealth  that,  perhaps,  was  ill-gotten.  Yet  Philip 
could  not  forbear  thinking,  "  It's  all  invested 
in  Kansas,"  as  he  passed  by. 

The  next  morning,  Johnny  was  at  his  post 
as  usual.  He  had  left  his  mother's  bedside  un- 
willingly ;  yet,  at  her  own  bidding,  he  hesitated 
no  longer. 


BEARING  ANOTHER'S  BURDENS.       295 

"  Yes,  Johnny,"  she  whispered:  "you  have 
to  go.  May  be  you  lose  your  place." 

So  Johnny  appeared  at  the  store,  got  out  his 
horse  and  wagon,  and  rode  the  streets  all  day,  as 
usual,  no  one  suspecting  how  heavy  a  heart  the 
little  fellow  carried.  But  Philip  knew.  The 
mute,  plaintive  appeal  for  sympathy  in  John- 
ny's eyes  was  not  lost  upon  him.  He  missed 
no  opportunity  of  rendering  assistance  to  his 
little  companion  ;  and,  however  slight  these 
services,  they  were  received  with  a  glow  of 
gratitude,  for  they  conveyed  to  the  little  fellow 
not  only  the  help  of  a  willing  hand,  but  the 
strength  and  encouragement  of  a  sympathizing 
heart. 

At  the  end  of  a  week,  Mrs.  Krantz  was 
again  able  to  move  about  her  house,  and 
Johnny's  heart  was  lightened.  Indeed,  he 
seemed  gayer  than  usual,  and  often  said  every- 
body was  so  good  to  him.  The  little  fellow  did 
not  see  that  the  unwonted  kindness  of  their 


296  LINSIDE  FARM. 

friends  and  neighbors  was  prompted  by  their 
sorrow  for  him,  as  the  dark  shadow  silently 
gathered  in  his  dwelling. 

About  two  months  later,  as  Johnny  was 
leaving  his  work  at  night,  he  glided  up  to 
Philip  and  whispered,  "  I  wish  you'd  come 
and  stay  with  me  to-night.  I'm  afraid." 

"Is  she  worse  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  No ;  but  I'm  afraid,  there  alone  with  her." 

"  You  don't  stay  alone  with  her,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  can't  to-night." 

Philip  looked  a  moment  at  the  little  trem- 
bling figure  before  him,  and  thought  of  the 
weary  nights  of  watching  he  had  passed 
through,  with  the  anxiety  about  his  invalid 
mother  hanging  over  him  always.  No  wonder 
the  young  face  had  grown  pale  and  thin. 
Philip  readily  promised  to  go  and  stay  with 
Johnny,  as  soon  as  he  should  be  released  from 
the  store. 

According  to  his  promise,  when  every  thing 


BEARING  ANOTHER'S  BURDENS.      297 

was  closed  up  for  the  night,  Philip  started.  It 
was  a  dark,  drizzling  night,  so  dark,  that,  as  soon 
as  he  had  passed  the  gaslights,  it  was  with  diffi- 
culty that  he  found  his  way.  But,  as  he  thrust 
his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  comfortable 
coat,  by  some  association  his  mind  ran  back  to 
that  cheerless  time,  only  some  months  back, 
when  he  had  sat  alone  and  homeless  in  the 
dreary  woods.  Looking  back  over  the  way 
by  which  he  had  been  led,  a  feeling  of  glad 
thanksgiving  crept  into  his  heart,  though 
around  were  the  darkness  and  the  chill  mist. 
Before  he  was  aware,  he  stood  at  Johnny's 
door.  It  was  opened  by  Johnny  himself;  and 
he  stepped  into  the  little  low  room,  lighted  by  a 
single  tallow  candle. 

"  You're  good,"  said  Mrs.  Krantz,  "  to  come 
and  stay  with  my  boy.  Poor  little  Johnny !  " 
said  she  affectionately,  glancing  towards  the 
pale  face  of  her  little  son. 

The  boys  then  seated  themselves,  and  carried 


298  LINSIDE  FARM. 

on  the  conversation  after  their  own  fancy 
She  looked  on  and  listened  with  pleasure,  for 
she  had  not  seen  Johnny  so  gay  since  she  had 
been  ill.  But  the  boys  had  no  inducement  to 
make  it  a  long  evening,  and  soon  retired  to  the 
one  other  room,  leaving  the  door  ajar,  so  that 
Johnny  could  hear  if  his  mother  wanted  any 
thing  in  the  night. 

They  had  not  been  long  asleep,  when  Johnny 
suddenly  awoke, Philip  by  springing  quickly  out 
of  bed  and  striking  a  light.  Philip  had  no  idea 
what  had  awakened  the  boy,  so  slight  had  been 
the  call ;  but,  in  a  moment  more,  Johnny  called 
to  him  in  a  startled  voice,  "  Come,  Philip : 
quick,  quick !  " 

Philip  dressed  as  hastily  as  possible,  and 
found  the  poor  woman  suffering  with  another 
attack  of  her  malady.  Johnny  was  supporting 
her  head,  himself  almost  as  ghastly  pale  as  she. 
Help  was  quickly  summoned  ;  and,  there  being 
no  way  in  which  Philip  could  render  any  assist- 


BEARING  ANOTHER'S  BURDENS.       290 

ance,  he  retired  to  a  corner,  and  seated  himself 
on  a  wooden  settee.  Johnny  and  the  neighbor 
watched  by  the  sufferer,  doing  whatever  could 
be  done  for  her  relief.  The  dimly-lighted  room 
became  fearfully  silent.  The  clock  on  the 
mantle  ticked  away  the  slow  minutes,  as,  hour 
by  hour,  that  mother's  life  seemed  to  be  ebbing 
away.  By  and  by,  Philip  heard  the  neighbor 
say  something  to  Johnny  in  German  ;  and 
Johnny  came  to  him  and  whispered,  "  She's 
better  now  :  you  go  to  bed." 

"  Can  you  go  too  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  No :  I  shall  lie  down  by  mother,  and  watch 
her,"  said  the  little  fellow  bravely. 

The  neighbor  went  home  to  her  own  little  chil- 
dren, and  Philip  lay  down  on  the  bed  with  his 
clothes  on,  to  be  ready  for  any  emergency.  Con- 
trary to  his  intentions,  he  was  soon  fast  asleep, 
and  was  conscious  of  nothing  further  till  he 
heard  Johnny  moving  quietly  about,  and,  open- 
ing his  eyes,  found  it  was  daylight.  He  sprang 


300  LINSIDE  FARM. 

up  and  hastened  away,  to  attend  to  his  morning 
duty  at  the  store,  though  not  without  a  glance 
at  Mrs.  Krantz.  She  was  sleeping ;  but  so 
pale,  that,  but  for  some  nervous  tremulousness 
about  the  eyelids,  she  might  have  been  sup- 
posed already  dead. 

"  I  shall  tell  Mr.  Fassett  you  can't  come  to- 
day. Shall  I,  Johnny  ?  " 

"  I  have  to  come,  if  he  wants  me  bad.  But 
I  wish  1  didn't  have  to." 

"  Leave  that  for  me  to  manage,"  answered 
Philip.  "  If  he  needs  you,  I  will  let  you 
know,  some  way." 

The  morning  was  foggy,  and  though  nearly 
summer,  yet  so  chilly  that  Philip  was  glad  to 
draw  his  coat  closely  around  him  as  he  hastened 
away  through  the  lonely  streets,  scarcely  yet 
disturbed  by  a  single  passer.  It  was  a  little 
earlier  than  he  was  accustomed  to  open  the 
store,  and  he  was  glad,  after  the  disturbed  rest 
of  the  night,  to  turn  out  of  his  way  and  take  a 


BEARING  ANOTHER'S  BURDENS.       301 

hasty  walk  to  pass  away  the  surplus  time. 
Johnny  was  not  summoned  that  day,  nor  did 
Philip  know  how  it  was  faring  with  him  and 
his  mother.  It  was  a  busy  day,  as  nearly  all 
days  were  at  the  store ;  and  it  was  not  until 
the  day's  work  and  the  evening's  work,  too, 
were  ended,  that  Philip  found  time  to  go  and 
inquire. 

As  he  drew  near,  there  were  persons  passing 
in  and  out,  and  talking  in  low  tones ;  but,  the 
talk  being  all  in  German,  Philip  could  learn 
nothing  till  he  entered.  The  bed  was  removed, 
and,  stretched  on  a  board  resting  upon  chairs, 
in  the  corner  where  the  bed  had  been,  lay 
Johnny's  mother.  She  had  died  at  sunset, 
from  another  attack  of  hemorrhage.  Johnny 
was  crouched  on  the  floor  beside  her,  with 
his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  moaning  to  him- 
self in  low  tones,  as  he  rocked  to  and  fro, 
"  Meine  mutter  !  meine  mutter  !  meine  gute 
mutter !  " 


302  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Philip  touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  "  Let 
me  see  her,"  he  asked.  , 

The  hoy  rose  slowly,  and  reverently  turned 
back  the  covering  from  the  face. 

"  Isn't  she  pretty  ?  "  asked  Johnny. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Philip  sincerely  ;  for  death 
had  glorified  that  plain  face,  and  left  an  im- 
print there  which  seemed  to  say,  "  Thanks  he 
unto  God,  which  giveth  us  the  victory  through 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

"  My  mother,  my  pretty  mother,  my  good 
mother ! "  moaned  Johnny,  passing  his  hand 
across  the  brow  from  which  the  wrinkles  of  care 
and  hardship  were  wonderfully  smoothed.  He 
might  have  continued  for  hours,  had  not  one  of 
the  neighbors  gently  replaced  the  covering,  and 
motioned  to  Philip  to  lead  the  boy  away. 

Philip  passed  his  arm  around  Johnny,  and 
drew  him  into  the  next  room,  where  the  two 
were  alone.  He  endeavored  to  soothe  and 
comfort  the  poor  boy  as  he  best  could ;  but, 


BEARING  ANOTHER'S  BURDENS.       303 

alas!  how  could  he  give  comfort,  when  the 
recollections  of  the  dreary  time  that  had  fol- 
lowed the  death  of  his  own  parents  and  the 
breaking-up  of  his  own  home  were  brought  so 
freshly  to  his  memory !  He  could  only  sympa- 
thize. He  endeavored  to  lead  Johnny's 
thoughts  to  the  home  above,  to  which  his 
mother  had  gone,  for  he  knew  of  her  trust  in 
the  Saviour.  But  the  boy's  grief  was  too  fresh, 
and  his  realization  of  the  glories  of  the  heaven- 
ly world  too  slight,  to  permit  that  only  true 
comfort  to  have  effect.  As  yet,  he  could  only 
think  of  the  earthly  home,  made  empty  and 
desolate. 

How  long  they  sat  there,  Philip  was  not 
aware  ;  but,  at  length,  hearing  the  clock  strike 
eleven,  he  left  his  little  friend  in  charge  of  the 
neighbors  who  were  in,  and  turned  his  steps 
homeward.  The  moon,  past  the  full,  was  just 
rising,  casting  its  sickly  beams  across  his  path. 
He  walked  on,  wondering  somewhat  how  he 


304 


LINSIDE  FARM. 


was  to  reach  his  room  at  that  hour  of  the 
night ;  but,  having  his  own  key  of  the  store  in 
his  pocket,  he  fell  back  on  the  conclusion  to  pass 
the  night  on  the  counter,  with  his  coat  for  a 

O 

pillow,  if  he  could  do  no  better. 


SCENES  OF  A  NIGHT.  305 


CHAPTER    XV. 

SCENES     OF    A     NIGHT. 

LANCING  down  the  street  as  he 
drew  near  the  store,  Philip  saw  a 
horse  and  buggy  standing  before  the 
door  of  the  saloon,  half  a  square 
below,  on  the  opposite  side.  The  moonlight 
fell  clearly  upon  it,  and  he  was  sure  it  could 
be  no  other  than  Jerome  Reeves's.  There  were 
lights  within,  and  sounds  of  billiard-playing  and 
revelry.  A  moment  more,  and  Philip  was  on 
the  sidewalk  in  front  of  Mr.  Fassett's  store, 
ready  to  draw  the  key  from  his  pocket  and 
enter.  Just  then  the  report  of  a  pistol  startled 
him,  followed  in  quick  succession  by  another 
and  another.  Then  a  scuffle;  and  two  men 
20 


306  LINSIDE  FARM. 

rushed   out   of   the   saloon,   calling,    "  Police, 
police  !  " 

Instantly,  as  it  seemed,  men  appeared  from 
various  doors  along  the  street,  and  hurried  to 
find  out  the  cause  of  the  disturbance.  Philip, 
impelled  by  the  common  impulse,  ran  thither 
also,  and  entered  the  saloon.  He  had  been 
there  once  before,  and  remembered  it  well. 
The  crowd  within  was  divided  ;  some  gather- 
ing around  a  man  lying  wounded  on  the  floor, 
others  about  some  one  farther  within.  Philip's 
attention  was  first  directed  to  the  wounded  man 
as  he  lay  on  his  back,  with  the  blood  flowing 
from  a  ghastly  wound  in  the  side  of  his  neck, 
that  could  be  nothing  less  than  mortal,  though 
the  man  still  lived. 

"  Let  me  go,  I  tell  you  !  "  fiercely  exclaimed 
a  voice  from  beyond.  The  voice  startled 
Philip ;  and,  glancing  towards  the  other  group 
of  Excited  men,  he  saw  in  the  midst  of  them 
Jerome  Reeves,  struggling  to  free  himself  from 


SCENES  OF  A  NIGHT.  307 

the  grasp  of  two  or  three  stout  fellows  who 
were  holding  him.  He  had  scarcely  had  time 
to  recognize  Jerome,  when  the  officers  entered, 
and,  taking  him  prisoner,  led  him  away.  As  he 
passed  by  the  spot  where  his  murdered  victim 
lay,  he  glared  furiously  upon  him,  and  was  led 
out,  cursing  him  as  he  went.  The  wounded 
man  soon  expired,  and  was  carried  away  on  a 
bench  ;  and  the  crowd  began  to  scatter. 

"  Here's  his  horse,"  said  one  in  the  crowd. 
"  Look  here,  youngster :  didn't  you  use  to  live 
at  Reeves's  ?  Just  jump  in  this  here  buggy, 
and  drive  it  out  and  tell  the  old  man.  You 
wouldn't  mind  it,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  there  is  any  one  else  to  do  it,"  — 
Philip  began. 

"  There  ain't.  None  of  us  wants  to  go  ;  and 
you  don't  get  a  ride  very  often,"  he  added, 
with  a  laugh  that  made  Philip's  brain  reel,  fresh 
from  the  scene  of  horror. 

He  sprang  into  the  buggy,  and  turned  the 


308  LINSIDE  FARM. 

horse's  head  homeward.  The  poor  brute,  glad 
to  be  released  from  his  weary  waiting  for  his 
more  brutal  master,  dashed  off  at  a  quick  trot. 
Down  the  street,  over  the  bridge,  and  out  from 
the  town,  Philip  let  him  take  his  own  pace. 
Then  drawing  in  the  lines,  he  slackened  his 
speed  to  take  breath  after  the  excitement  he 
had  passed  through. 

He  was  on  his  way  to  Linside  Farm  for  the 
first  time  since  he  had  been  driven  thence.  His 
heart  quaked  with  apprehension  as  he  thought 
of  the  duty  before  him.  If  he  had  had  a  mo- 
ment for  consideration,  or  if  he  had  been  in  a 
less  excited  state  of  mind,  he  would  doubtless 
have  shrunk  from  the  commission  so  unceremo- 
niously thrust  upon  him.  But  it  was  too  late 
then. 

He  drove  on  in  the  still  midnight,  thinking 
now  of  Jerome,  thrust  into  a  prisoner's  cell, 
now  of  his  little  friend  crouching  beside  his 
dead  mother,  now  again  of  what  he  should  say 


SCENES  OF  A   NIGHT,  309 

to  the  captain  when  he  should  reach  his  desti- 
nation. He  had  not  been  able  to  frame  any 
satisfactory  way  of  making  his  dread  statement, 
when  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
necessity  of  telling  his  story  at  once ;  as  the 
horse  turned  of  his  own  accord  to  the  hitching- 

O 

post  in  front  of  Capt.  Reeves's  house. 

Philip  jumped  out  and  tied  the  horse, 
walked  three  or  four  times  irresolutely  to  the 
gate  and  back  again,  before  he  could  make  up 
his  mind  to  knock.  When  he  did,  it  seemed  as 
if  the  fields  and  woods  re-echoed  the  knock 
from  every  direction.  His  first  knock  was 
unanswered ;  probably  for  the  reason  that  it  had 
been  no  uncommon  thing  for  the  house  to  be 
disturbed  at  all  hours  by  Jerome's  noisy  return. 
His  second  knock  brought  the  challenge, 
"  Who's  there  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  see  Capt.  Reeves,"  replied 
Philip. 

"  Directly,"  was  the  answer. 


310  LINSIDE  FARM. 

A  moment  more,  and  the  door  was  opened ; 
and  Capt.  Reeves,  half  dressed,  stood  before 
him. 

"  I  have  brought  Jerome's  horse  home," 
faltered  Philip. 

"  Where's  he  ?  "  asked  the  captain  hastily. 

"  He  has  been  arrested,"  replied  Philip, 
trembling  in  every  limb. 

"  Artested  !  "  repeated  the  captain  :  "  what 
for  ?  " 

"  He  is  charged  with  shooting  a  man." 

"  I  knew  it  would  come  to  this,"  said  the 
captain  in  a  low,  hissing  voice,  mingling  his 
reply  with  curses.  "I  knew  it  would  come  to 
this." 

Some  one  within  had  been  listening ;  and 
Philip  heard  a  suppressed  groan. 

"  What's  your  name,  young  man  ?  "  asked 
the  captain  at  length. 

"  Philip  Landon." 

"  Philip  Landon  !      You  !     Philip   Landon  ! 


SCENES  OF  A  NIGHT.  311 

You  come  to  fling  this  bitter  news  in  my  face  ? 
How  dare  you  ?  " 

By  this  time  the  family  were  thoroughly 
roused.  Sophy  was  sobbing  and  screaming, 
while  Mrs.  Reeves  came  and  stood  in  silence 
to  hear  any  further  communication  Philip 
might  have  to  make.  But  he  had  nothing 
more.  He  had  told  his  whole  story,  and  was 
shrinking  back  from  Capt.  Reeves  as  he  stepped 
furiously  towards  him. 

But  Capt.  Reeves  had  no  intention  of  using 
violence  towards  Philip.  It  was  a  momentary 
burst  of  passion,  that  quickly  subsided  as  the 
recollection  of  its  cause  returned  to  his  mind. 

"  The  worthless  fellow,"  exclaimed  the  cap- 
tain. "  But  how  did  you  happen  to  be 
there  ?  " 

Philip  explained  the  circumstances  that  had 
brought  him  to  the  street  at  the  moment.  The 
captain  then  uttered  some  further  exclamations, 
and  Philip  turned,  saying,  "  Good-night,  cap- 
lain." 


312  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  home  now,  sir." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  walk  back  to  town  1 
No  such  thing.  Come  in,  Philip.  Come  in, 
and  stay  till  morning." 

"  It's  impossible,"  answered  Philip.  "  I 
must  be  at  the  store  early.  I  can  easily  walk 
back  in  a  little  while." 

Mrs.  Reeves  added  her  importunities,  but 
Philip  was  firm  in  declining. 

"  Come  in  a  few  moments,  then,  and  I  will 
drive  you  back,"  said  the  captain.  "  No  ex- 
cuses. Come  right  in." 

Philip  entered ;  and  the  captain  brought  a 
light,  and  ushered  him  into  that  mysterious  par- 
lor, of  the  interior  of  which  he  had  never 
obtained  so  much  as  a  glimpse  during  the  two 
years  he  had  spent  in  the  house.  If  he  could 
have  seen  Pauly,  he  would  have  been  content. 

The  captain  kept  him  waiting  but  a  moment, 
and  then  re-appeared,  prepared  for  his  drive. 


SCENES  OF  A   NIGHT.  313 

Philip  heard  him  say  as  he  left,  "  I  cannot  see 
him  to-night :  there  would  be  no  use  in  trying. 
I  shall  be  back  in  half  or  three  quarters  of  an 
hour." 

The  captain  took  up  the  lines,  and  the  horse 
started  for  town  again,  turning  somewhat  stub- 
bornly towards  the  stable  as  they  passed,  but 
trotting  off  bravely  when  once  thoroughly  on 
his  way.  The  road  was  level  and  smooth  ;  and 
the  horse,  tired  rather  with  standing  than  with 
travelling,  made  the  best  of  his  speed.  During 
the  few  minutes  that  the  ride  of  two  miles 
occupied,  the  captain  asked  Philip  many  ques- 
tions as  to  his  welfare  and  progress,  and  really 
manifested  a  kindly  interest  towards  him.  But 
he  made  no  allusion  to  his  son,  except  to  ask  as 
they  passed  the  saloon,  "  Was  it  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  responded  Philip. 

"  I  thought  so." 

Nothing  further  was  said.  When  Philip 
jumped  from  the  buggy,  a  few  doors  farther  on, 


314  LINSIDE  FARM. 

the  captain  reached  out  his  hand  and  grasped 
Philip',3  kindly  as  he  bade  him  "  Good-night." 
"  And  excuse  my  roughness  towards  you,"  he 
added.  "A  man  doesn't  always  know  what  he 
is  saying  when  a  great  trouble  comes  so  sudden. 
But  I've  been  expecting  something  of  the  kind. 
Don't  ever  drink,  Philip.  Maybe  I've  been 
hard  on  him,  and  driven  him  to  this.  I'm 
afraid  I  have." 

He  turned,  and  was  gone.  Philip  stood  lis- 
tening to  the  noise  of  the  receding  wheels. 
How  silent  it  was  then !  How  fearfully  still 
the  deserted  street !  —  every  window  shuttered 
and  barred  ;  every  door  locked  ;  people  quietly 
sleeping  all  around :  although,  not  an  hour  before, 
a  soul  had  been  sent  by  the  hand  of  violence  to 
its  dread  account ;  although  a  home  had  been 
desolated  ;  although  but  a  few  streets  off  the 
peacefully  dead  was  slumbering,  and  a  lonely 
boy  sobbing  out  his  great  sorrow.  While  he 
stood,  the  sound  of  the  horse's  hoofs  crossing 
the  bridge  broke  the  stillness. 


SCENES  OF  A  NIGHT.  315 

Philip  took  the  key  from  his  pocket  and  let 
himself  in,  and  silently  lay  down  on  the 
counter,  with  his  coat  for  a  pillow,  and  a  rug 
thrown  over  him.  It  had  been  a  nio-ht  of  too 

O 

much  excitement  for  sleep ;  and  daybreak 
found  him  awake  and  ready  for  business, 
though  unrefreshed. 

Philip  was  weary  and  depressed  the  next 
day  ;  but  the  activities  of  business  aroused  him 
after  a  while.  He  found  time  during  the  day 
to  slip  away  to  Johnny's  home,  and  see  how 
the  poor  boy  was  faring.  A  sister  of  Mrs. 
Krantz  had  arrived,  with  her  husband  and 
other  friends,  so  that  Johnny's  outer  comfort 
was  provided  for.  The  poor  little  sorrowful 
face,  however,  looked  up  to  him  for  sympathy, 
which  was  all  the  comfort  he  could  give.  Yet 
even  this  is  so  much,  as  to  have  been  made  the 
subject  of  an  inspired  injunction :  "  Rejoice  with 
them  that  do  rejoice,  and  weep  with  them  that 
weep." 


316  LINSIDE  FARM. 

But  Philip's  time  was  not  his  own  ;  and  he 
soon  hastened  back  to  the  store.  The  next 
day  was  fixed  for  the  burial  of  Johnny's  moth- 
er, and  Philip  was  released  from  his  duties,  to 
be  present.  The  services  were  conducted  in 
German,  and  unintelligible  to  Philip  ;  but  he 
took  his  place  as  near  as  possibl?  to  Johnny. 
The  little  fellow  seemed  to  lean  upon  him.  At 
the  grave,  after  the  poor  lonely  boy  had  seen 
the  earth  close  over  his  heart's  only  earthly 
treasure,  the  young  friends  parted  ;  Johnny  to 
return  to  his  deserted  home  with  his  relatives, 
Philip  to  turn  aside  and  stand  once  more  by 
the  granite  column  that  marked  the  resting- 
place  of  those  who  had  brightened  his  own  early 
years.  It  was  mid-afternoon  of  a  warm  day 
in  the  end  of  spring.  It  had  been  four  years 
since  the  last  one  of  those  graves  had  closed, 
and  during  those  four  years  he  had  passed  from 
childhood  to  youth.  The  sadness  awakened  by 
standing  beside  the  resting-place  of  those  whose 


SCENES  OF  A   NIGHT.  317 

memory  he  held  so  dear  was  tempered  by  the 
various  experiences  he  had  passed  through. 
He  entered  the  little  enclosure,  looked  carefully 
to  the  condition  of  the  evergreens  and  roses 
he  had  planted  four  years  before,  measured 
with  his  eye  the  still  vacant  place  that  remained, 
— "  for  me,"  he  thought,  but  with  no  tinge 
of  morbid  melancholy  associated  therewith. 

*'  My  son,  you  have  a  life  to  live,"  he  seemed 
to  hear  his  father  say.  How  different  the  words 
were  to  him  from  the  time  of  their  utterance, 
and  also  from  the  time  when  he  repeated  them 
to  himself  on  the  eve  of  his  departure  for 
Linside !  A  life  to  live  !  He  was  beginning  to 
realize  the  meaning  of  those  few  words ;  to 
know  something  of  what  it  is  to  live  a  human 
life,  with  all  its  momentous  issues. 

"  Live  honorably  !  "  How  much  more  it 
meant  for  him  now  than  then  !  Then  it  had 
meant  simply  to  be  above  reproach,  to  pur- 
sue a  course  of  integrity  among  men.  He  had 


318  LINSIDE  FARM. 

tried  it  and  failed  ;  and  had  learned  from  that 
failure  how  easily  he  might  fail  again  under 
circumstances  of  trial.  But  connected  with 
the  injunction  now  came  to  his  mind  the  words, 
"  To  them  who  by  patient  continuance  in  well- 
doing, seek  for  glory  and  honor  and  immortal- 
ity, eternal  life."  How  much  higher  the 
standard !  how  infinitely  greater  the  reward  ! 
Instead  of  repeating  with  an  audible  voice  his 
impotent  "  I  will,"  he  lifted  his  heart  in  silent 
prayer  to  the  Father  of  spirits,  that  he  might 
be  upheld,  guided,  accepted,  and  rewarded, 
through  the  infinite  and  unfailing  merits  of 
Christ  the  Redeemer. 

He  then  walked  quietly  back  to  resume  the 
business  of  every-day  life,  to  interweave  amid 
its  multiplicity  of  common  cares  the  duties  of 
holy  living ;  not  as  a  meritorious  work  wrought 
out  by  his  own  strength,  and  in  reliance  upon 
his  own  uprightness,  but  as  a  service  of  love  to 
him  who  from  amidst  the  ruins  of  sin  gathers 
jr  wels  for  his  own  crown. 


SCENES  OF  A   NIGHT.  319 

The  next  morning,  Johnny  appeared  in  his 
accustomed  place  in  the  store.  His  friends  had 
gone  home.  They  were  poor  people  ;  and,  as 
Johnny  had  a  good  place,  they  had  left  him  — 
not  unfeelingly,  but  because  they  could  not  do 
otherwise  —  to  struggle  with  his  grief  and  lone- 
liness as  he  best  could.  The  few  articles  of 
furniture  that  had  sufficed  for  himself  and,  his 
mother  were  to  be  sold.  The  proceeds  would 
not  more  than  meet  a  small  balance  due  on  the 
rent.  A  neighbor  had  agreed  to  board  Johnny 
at  the  lowest  rate  that  would  cover  the  ex- 
pense. 

Philip  well  knew  what  it  meant  to  be  alone 
and  homeless  ;  and  his  affections  went  out  more 
and  more  towards  his  pale-faced  little  fellow- 
worker.  His  mind  and  heart  were  strength- 
ened by  the  very  exercise  of  bestowing  his  love 
and  sympathy  on  one  younger  and  more  help- 
less than  himself.  His  manhood  began  to 
assert  itself  in  those  very  qualities  in  which  man 


320  LINSIDE  FARM. 

is  noblest, —  in  protecting,  helping,  sheltering  the 
weak  and  sorrowing.  How  wisely  the  relations 
of  life  are  ordered  for  the  development  of  these 
magnanimous  traits ! 


JEROME'S  TRIAL.  321 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

JEROME'S  TRIAL. 

EAN  WHILE,  Jerome  had 
been  bailed  out  of  his  imprison- 
ment, and  was  riding  up  and 
down  the  street  as  gayly  as  ever. 
Sometimes  Philip  only  saw  him  as  he  went 
whirling  past  the  open  door :  sometimes  he 
encountered  him.  Whenever  this  occurred, 
Jerome  recognized  him  with  a  great  show  of 
familiarity,  from  which  Philip  made  his  escape 
as  soon  as  possible.  On  one  occasion,  however, 
he  could  not  avoid  Jerome,  as  he  reined  in  his 
horse  to  the  sidewalk,  and  signified  his  desire  to 
speak. 

"  Say,"  said  Jerome :  "  what  did  you  see  the 

other  night,  over  there  ?  " 
21 


322  LINSIDE  FARM. 

"  When  and  where  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  you  needn't  pretend.  Some  of  the 
fellows  told  me  you  were  there.  A  pretty  place 
for  you  to  be,  I  think,  with  your  pretensions ! 
But  no  matter  about  that  now.  What  did  you 
see  over  there  in  the  saloon,  the  night  of  the 
fracas  ?  " 

"  I  saw  a  wounded  and  dying  man." 

"  Yes,  yes :  I  suppose  so.  But  did  you  see 
me?" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  did  you  see  me  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Good !  Then  you  can't  say  I  did  it. 
That's  all.  That's  what  I  wanted  to  know  ; " 
and  he  gathered  up  his  lines  and  trotted  off. 

"  What  does  he  mean  ?  "  thought  Philip. 
"  Doesn't  he  know  I  wasn't  there  till  after  it 
was  all  over  ? "  He  had  forgotten  that  the 
sound  of  a  shaking  leaf  chases  the  guilty  man. 
He  hastened  on,  glad  to  be  rid  of  Jerome's 


JEROME'^S  TRIAL.  323 

presence.  Yet  his  feeling  was  not,  "  Stand  by, 
for  I  am  holier  than  thou  :  "  it  was  rather  a 
feeling  of  devout  and  humble  thanksgiving  in 
view  of  the  ruin  he  had  himself  escaped.  He 
was  thinking  of  the  fearful  possibilities  of  sin 
that  lay  within  his  own  breast,  held  in  check 
only  by  the  providence  and  grace  of  God. 

Jerome's  trial  took  place  in  the  early  part  of 
the  summer.  It  had  not  occurred  to  Philip 
that  his  participation  in  the  transactions  of  that 
night  in  the  saloon  would  involve  him  as  a 
witness  in  the  case.  But  so  it  was.  To  his 
great  astonishment,  he  was  summoned  to  appear 
and  give  his  testimony  respecting  the  affray,  of 
which  he  had  witnessed  only  the  results.  He 
was  glad  he  had  nothing  to  tell.  He  would 
have  given  much,  rather  than  appear  against 
one,  whom,  in  that  hour  of  disaster  and  dis- 
grace, he  could  think  of  only  as  he  first  knew 
him,  —  a  feeble,  crippled  boy,  cut  off"  from  all 
aims  which  were  congenial  to  him,  or  to  which 


324  LINSIDE  FARM. 

it  was  even  possible  for  him  to  apply  hioiself, 
pining  in  restless  indolence,  and  at  length  turn- 
ing to  vicious  courses  for  want  of  something 
worthy  the  application  of  his  powers.  Not 
that  these  circumstances  excused  him :  they 
only  ensnared  him  to  his  ruin. 

But  Philip  was  compelled  to  appear.  He 
turned  away  his  eyes  as  much  as  possible  from 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar.  All  their  boyish  talks 
in  the  wood-lot  seemed  thronging  in  his  mem- 
ory; and  the  picture  of  Jerome  then  was 
so  much  pleasanter,  that,  if  possible,  he  would 
gladly  have  kept  it.  Yet  he  could  not  alto- 
gether avoid  looking  at  his  former  friend. 
He  was  pale  and  listless,  having  been  de- 
prived of  his  accustomed  stimulants,  and 
looked  far  more  like  the  occasional  companion 
of  earlier  times  than  Philip  had  seen  him  look 
for  months. 

Taking  upon  his  lips,  with  an  awful  sense  of 
its  solemnity,  that  oath  which  is  so  often  given 


JEROME'S   TRIAL.  325 

and  received  with  lightness,  Philip  told  his 
story,  and  was  examined  and  cross-examined, 
always  with  the  same  result :  that  he  knew 
nothing  more  than  everybody  knew,  —  that  a 
man  was  shot,  and  that  Jerome  was  charged 
with  doing  the  deed. 

Philip  was  present  when  the  sentence  of  im- 
prisonment was  pronounced.  He  could  not  look 
to  see  what  effect  was  produced  upon  the  pris- 
oner. When  he  did,  after  a  while,  turn  that 
way,  Jerome's  countenance  betrayed  nothing. 
Perhaps  he  had  felt,  during  all  the  time,  such 
a  dread  certainty  as  to  the  result,  that  he 
was  neither  shocked  nor  surprised  when  it 
came. 

As  Philip's  eyes  met  his,  Jerome  motioned  as 
if  to  speak  with  him. 

"  I  want  you,"  said  Jerome  with  strong 
calmness,  "  to  go  and  tell  them  all  about  it,  out 
at  the  farm."  His  voice  quivered  a  little. 
"  They  are  not  here.  Father  told  me  he 


3'26  LINSIDE  FARM. 

wouldn't  be  here  ;  and  I'd  rather  you  would  tell 
them  than  anybody  else." 

Philip  promised. 

"  I'm  glad  you  had  nothing  to  say  against 
me,  except  that  I  was  there,"  Jerome  added 
with  a  smile ;  but  the  smile  was  more  ghastly 
than  his  composure  had  been. 

"  So  am  I,"  answered  Philip  fervently. 

"  One  thing  more,"  added  Jerome,  his  voice 
quivering  again.  "  Tell  —  tell  them  all  about 
it  ;  and  tell  Pauly  "  —  he  could  not  speak  for 
a  moment  —  "tell  Pauly  not  to  forget  me." 

u  I  will,"  answered  Philip.  "  And,  Jerome, 
let  me  give  you  one  parting  word.  *  The  blood 
of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin.1 ' 

We  will  not  record  Jerome's  answer.  It 
was  not  such  as  to  give  hope  that  he  would 
take  heed  to  the  heavenly  message.  Yet  who 
can  tell  ?  Every  word  of  the  Lord  is  a  seed 
germed  with  life  ;  and  he  may  give  it  increase 
long  after  the  sower  has  forgotten  the  planting 
of  it. 


JEROME'S   TRIAL.  327 

Philip  lost  no  time  in  executing  Jerome's 
commission.  Mr.  Fassett  readily  permitted  him 
to  go,  and  supplied  a  horse  for  him  to  ride.  It 
was  near  night,  and  a  drizzling  fog  filled  the 
air.  Philip  felt  chilled  and  dreary,  as  he  rode 
slowly  on,  dreading  the  moment  when  his  an- 
nouncement must  be  made.  Yet  it  was  not  so 
trying  as  the  occasion  of  his  last  visit ;  for  now 
his  message  must  be  expected. 

The  captain  met  him  at  the  door.  The 
whole  family  were  evidently  in  a  state  of  ex- 
pectation. Though  the  captain  had  not  even 
looked  within  the  door  of  the  court-room 
while  his  only  son  was  on  trial,  yet  little  else 
had  been  thought  of  in  the  house  while  the 
trial  progressed. 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  asked  the  captain  eagerly.     ' 

"  Imprisonment." 

"  The  worthless  fellow ! "  exclaimed  the 
captain.  "  I  will  harden  myself  like  steel 
against  him."  But  at  the  same  moment  he 


328  L1NSIDE  FARM. 

turned  pale,  and  a  look  of  anguish  convulsed 
his  features. 

Philip  stood  a  moment  silent  before  him. 
He  had  nothing  further  to  communicate,  except 
the  message  to  Pauly. 

"  Might  I  see  Pauly  a  moment  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  come  in :  come  in,  Philip.  I  had 
forgotten  myself." 

Philip  had  no  desire  to  witness  the  distress 
of  Mrs.  Reeves,  nor  to  hear  the  raving  of  Miss 
Sophy.  Yet  he  could  not  do  otherwise  than 
enter.  The  supper-table  was  ready.  There 
was  Jerome's  plate  prepared  for  him.  Had 
they  a  lingering  hope  that  he  would  be  with 
them,  acquitted  and  released  that  night  ? 

Mrs.  Reeves  had  heard  Philip's  announce- 
ment at  the  door.  Her  face  was  pale  and 
rigid  ;  but  she  neither  made  any  outward  show 
of  grief,  nor  looked  to  her  husband  for  support. 
She  seemed  ten  years  older  than  when  Philip 
had  left  the  farm,  a  year  and  a  half  before. 


JEROME'S   TRIAL.  329 

Her  form  was  bowed,  her  hair  was  streaked 
with  gray,  and  her  face  wore  that  look  of 
settled  sorrow  which  no  new  trial  could 
deepen.  It  had  come  there  gradually,  yet 
swiftly,  as  Jerome  had  gradually  but  swiftly 
gone  down  in  ruin.  She  moved  about  like 
one  in  a  dream,  finishing  the  preparations  for 
supper. 

The  captain  stepped  to  the  door,  and  called 
Pauly.  She  came  dancing  in  :  she  had  not  yet 
heard  the  news.  Philip  was  still  standing,  as 
she  came  in  with  her  hands  full  of  flowers,  and 
laid  them  softly  by  Jerome's  plate.  That 
simple  action  opened  the  flood-gates  of  grief; 
and  all  broke  down  in  tears  and  sobs,  not  ex- 
cepting Capt.  Reeves  himself.  His  flimsy 
covering  of  steel  was  gone.  He  was  a  man 
and  a  father. 

Pauly  comprehended  it  all,  and  sank  on  the 
floor.  In  the  midst  of  the  tears  and  groans, 


330 


LINSIDE  FARM. 


Philip  glided  to  Pauly's  side,  and  whispered 
Jerome's  message  in  her  ear.  He  then  turned 
and  walked  swiftly  out,  mounted  his  horse,  and 
galloped  home. 


TWENTY-ONE.  331 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


TWENTY-ONE. 


WO  more  years  passed  by,  and  Philip 
found  himself  standing  on  the  verge 


of  manhood.  But  there  was  no 
change  for  him  to  look  forward  to  ;  no 
property  for  him  to  acquire  possession  of, 
"  thanks  to  Mr.  Glenn,"  as  he  sometimes  said 
to  himself,  seeing  that  gentleman  pass  to  and 
fro,  in  busy  attention  to  his  ovvn  affairs.  But 
this  recollection  no  longer  brought  with  it  the 
rankling  bitterness  it  once  had  brought.  He 
was  strong  in  his  youthful  self-reliance,  —  a  self- 
reliance  not  founded  upon  confidence  in  his  own 
powers  merely,  but  in  the  providential  care  of 
God,  blessing  his  efforts,  and  strengthening  him 
in  the  ability  he  possessed  to  make  his  own  way 


332  LTNSIDE  FARM. 

by  his  own  industry  and  care.  Though  he  had 
not  just  the  amount  nor  just  the  kind  of  edu- 
cation he  had  set  his  heart  upon  in  his  earlier 
years,  yet  he  had  a  clear  head  ;  and,  through 
Mr.  Fassett's  kindness  and  instruction,  he  had 
acquired  good  business-habits  :  and  he  had  no 
misgivings  as  to  the  future. 

He  had  seen  nothing  of  Mr.  Glenn,  save  an 
occasional  greeting  as  they  met  in  the  streets, 
since  the  morning  that  he  appeared  to  offer  him 
the  opportunity  of  going  to  school,  with  the 
accompanying  necessity  of  living  at  his  house  in 
the  capacity  of  chore-boy.  One  morning  in 
April  he  was  surprised  by  the  sudden  appear- 
ance of  Mr.  Glenn  in  the  store.  He  walked 
straight  to  Philip,  and  said  abruptly,  "  Let  me 
see,  Philip :  you  are  nearly  twenty-one,  1  be- 
live.  When  is  your  birthday  ?  " 

"  May  17,"  replied  Philip.  "  Why,  may  I 
ask,  Mr.  Glenn  ?  " 

"  Oh !    nothing   special.      I  just  wanted   to 


TWENTY-ONE.  333 

know.  My  office  as  your  guardian  expires 
then,  you  understand.  It  has  been  a  nominal 
office  in  some  respects ;  but  still  I  felt  interested 
to  know  just  when  the  time  will  expire." 

"  May  17,"  repeated  Philip  stiffly. 

"  If  you  had  got  into  any  trouble  that  I 
could  have  have  helped  you  out  of,"  continued 
Mr.  Glenn,  "  you  may  depend  you  would  have 
heard  from  me.  If  you  had  come  to  me  when 
you  did  get  into  trouble,  I  should  have  helped 
you  ;  but  you  got  through  it  pretty  well.  I 
believe  in  letting  well  enough  alone ;  "  and 
Mr.  Glenn  laughed.  "  I'm  heartily  glad 
you've  done  so  well,"  he  resumed.  "  And  so, 
after  May  17,  I  need  not  trouble  myself  any 
further  about  you." 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  replied  Philip,  still  more 
stiffly.  "  I  hope  you  will  not  be  uneasy  about 
me  from  now  till  then." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  replied  Mr.  Glenn  good-na- 
turedly. "  You  haven't  been  a  very  heavy 
burden.  Good-morning,  Philip." 


061  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Philip  coldly  bowed  Mr.  Glenn  out  of  the 
store.  For  a  few  moments  he  felt  thoroughly 
roused  against  him.  "  To  think  of  his  coming 
here  to  remind  me  of  what  he  has  done  for  me ! 
I  suppose  on  my  birthday  he'll  come  again,  to 
square  accounts.  He'll  expect  a  great  show 
of  gratitude  from  me,  no  doubt." 

Philip  looked  up  and  saw  Mr.  Fassett's  eye 
resting  upon  him  with  an  expression  that  puz- 
zled him.  The  flush  died  out  of  his  face  ;  and, 
with  a  hearty  laugh,  he  exclaimed,  "  Cool, 
wasn't  it?  " 

"  A  very  peculiar  man,"  replied  Mr.  Fas- 
sett. 

"  I  think  so.  Cool,  I  do  think !  Quite 
refreshing !  " 

Philip's  indignation  was  gone.  He  was  able 
after  that  to  think  with  a  feeling  of  amusement, 
as  he  saw  Mr.  Glenn  go  bustling  about  his 
business,  "  Poor  man  !  in  a  few  weeks  more  you 
will  be  released  of  your  load  of  care  about  me." 


TWENTY-ONE.  335 

His  birthday  came  on  a  Tuesday.  On  the 
Monday  previous,  he  received  a  pretty  little 
note  from  Mrs.  Hamilton,  inviting  him  to  take 
tea  with  her  the  next  evening,  at  seven  o'clock. 
"A  quiet  little  party,"  the  note  went  on  to 
say,  "just  to  celebrate  the  happy  event.  You 
may  bring  Johnny  with  you  if  you  like." 

When  Philip  spoke  to  Mr.  Fassett  about  it, 
he  answered  as  if  he  understood  it  already. 
Philip  was  not  used  to  parties ;  and  it  was  no 
wonder  that  this  summons  threw  him  into  some 
degree  of  agitation.  He  had  some  misgivings 
about  being  able  to  conduct  himself  party- 
fashion  ;  but  finally  settled  to  the  conclusion 
that  at  Mrs.  Hamilton's  he  surely  could  get  on 
well  enough. 

The  next  day  dawned,  —  May  17.  Philip 
was  a  man.  He  had  a  voice  now  in  the  affairs 
of  his  country,  —  a  vote  on  all  matters  of  public 
importance.  He  wished  it  were  an  election- 
day,  that  he  might  go  at  once  and  deposit  that 


336  LINSIDE  FARM. 

precious  bit  of  paper.  Aside  from  the  acquisi- 
tion of  this  privilege,  he  was  sensible  of  no 
change  in  his  condition. 

Soon  after  seven,  he  presented  himself,  with 
little  Johnny,  at  Mrs.  Hamilton's  house.  He 
was  surprised  at  the  hum  of  voices  that  came 
through  the  half-open  door.  On  entering,  he 
found  that  Mr.  Fassett  and  his  wife  had  pre- 
ceded him ;  his  pastor  and  wife  were  there ;  some 
young  men  with  whom  he  had  formed  acquaint- 
ance in  the  Bible-class  ;  with  some  other  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  strangers  to  him ;  and  last, 
though  not  least,  Mr.  Glenn.  Philip  was  not 
glad  to  see  his  face  there.  Most  of  the  others 
were  persons  who  had  shown  a  lively  interest 
in  his  welfare.  Some  of  them  were  his  best 
benefactors.  But  the  presence  of  Mr.  Glenn 
seemed  to  throw  a  chill  over  the  whole  party. 
Yet  Philip  could  not  fail  to  observe  that  he  was 
never  before  so  affable  and  genial.  He  seemed 
to  be  in  high  spirits.  "It  is  because  he  is  about 


TWENTY-ONE.  337 

to  be  released  from  his  heavy  charge,"  thought 
Philip,  with  a  smile,  many  times  in  the  course 
of  the  evening. 

By  and  by  they  gathered  around  a  well-filled 
supper-table.  Mrs.  Hamilton's  housekeeping 
resources  seemed  to  have  been  taxed  to  do 
honor  to  the  occasion.  Philip  began  to  think, 
as  he  cast  his  eye  along  the  beautifully-arranged 
table,  spread  with  every  thing  that  could  tempt 
the  appetite  or  please  the  eye,  that,  after  all,  to 
become  of  age  was  more  of  an  event,  even  in 
his  life,  than  he  could  possibly  have  imagined. 

As  the  repast  concluded,  Mr.  Glenn  arose 
from  his  seat,  and,  turning  to  Philip,  addressed 
him  :  —  , 

"  Philip  Landon,  my  ward  no  longer,  allow 
me  to  congratulate  you  on  this  happy  occasion  ; 
not  only  upon  having  attained  the  age  of  man- 
hood, but  upon  having  attained  it  with  honor. 
I  am  happy  to  resign  my  care  of  your  interests, 
leaving  you  in  such  prosperous  circumstances. 

22 


338  LINSIDE  FARM. 

My  oversight  of  your  affairs  has  not  come  very 
much  under  your  observation  ;  yet  I  have  never 
for  a  moment  lost  sight  of  you.  You  have  had 
some  hardness  to  endure  ;  but  it  is  in  this  way 
that  good  soldiers  are  made.  While  I  have  not 
seen  reason  to  interfere  with  your  personal 
affairs,  I  have  guarded  your  interests  in  other 
respects ;  and  I  am  happy  now  to  resign  to 
yourself  the  care  of  your  little  fortune,  satisfied 
that  the  habits  of  industry,  fortitude,  and  fru- 
gality you  have  acquired  will  qualify  you  for 
the  trust.  You  may  call  upon  me  at  any  time, 
and  I  will  submit  to  your  inspection  the  ac- 
counts I  have  kept  with  your  father's  estate 
from  first  to  last ;  and  I  will  also  place  in  your 
hands  various  obligations  amounting  to  about 
five  thousand  dollars :  and  with  it  may  you 
have  that  blessing  of  the  Lord  that  maketh 

o 

rich,  and  addeth  no  sorrow  therewith  !  " 

Philip  was  overwhelmed.     He  gazed  at  Mr. 
Glenn  in  speechless  astonishment.     He  scarcely 


TWENTY-ONE.  339 

gave  a  thought  to  the  snug  little  sum  of  money 
of  which  he  had  come  into  possession.  He 
was  so  occupied  in  revolving  over  and  over  the 
injustice  he  had  done  his  guardian,  that  there 
was  no  place  in  his  mind  for  any  thing  else. 

"  Answer  him,  Philip,"  whispered  some  one. 
He  looked  up.  It  was  Mrs.  Hamilton. 

"  Answer  him,"  she  repeated ;  "  answer 
him." 

"  I  can't.  Indeed  I  can't,  Mrs.  Hamilton. 
Not  now." 

"  Mr.  Fassett,  you  will  have  to  answer  for 
him,"  suggested  Mrs.  Hamilton  gayly. 

Mr.  Fassett  replied,  giving  utterance  to  just 
what  he  knew  Philip  would  have  him  say,  and 
expressing  the  utmost  confidence  and  esteem 
towards  his  clerk ;  for  such,  in  reality,  Philip 
had  become. 

Then  followed  congratulations  all  around ;  in 
the  course  of  which  Philip  learned  various 
facts  in  relation  to  Mr.  Glenn's  management  of 


340  LTNSIDE  FARM. 

his  affairs,  which,  it  appeared,  were  much  better 
understood  by  Mr.  Fassett  and  by  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hamilton  than  by  himself.  He  learned, 
that,  when  his  father's  books  and  papers  were 
first  placed  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Glenn,  they 
were  in  such  a  condition  that  it  seemed  there 
would  be  nothing  left  to  his  son.  He  learned, 
that,  if  Mr.  Glenn  had  at  once  pressed  mat- 
ters to  a  final  settlement,  every  thing  would 
have  been  sacrificed.  He  learned,  that  with 
unwearied  watchfulness,  patience,  and  care,  by 
seizing  favorable  opportunities  as  eagerly  as  if  it 
had  been  his  own  interests  that  were  involved, 
he  had  at  length  extricated  a  certain  amount. 
This  he  had  invested  in  Western  lands,  going 
himself  to  locate  them.  They  had  risen  in 
value,  had  been  sold,  the  money  had  been  re- 
invested and  carefully  looked  after,  until  now  it 
had  become  the  handsome  amount  which  Mr. 
Glenn  proposed  placing  in  Philip's  hands. 
At  one  period  in  these  negotiations,  a  small 


TWENTY-ONE.  341 

amount  was  left  loose  in  Mr.  Fassett's  hands ; 
and  then  it  was  that  he  had  made  the  offer  to 
Philip  to  attend  school  if  he  liked,  which 
Philip  rejected.  He  learned  that  Mr.  Glenn 
had  grieved  over  his  hardships  with  Capt. 
Reeves,  though  perhaps  not  fully  understand- 
ing them.  He  learned  that  it  had  been  Mr. 
Glenn  who  assisted  Mrs.  Hamilton  in  procuring 
for  him  a  situation  at  Mr.  Fassett's ;  and  that 
he  had  also  bought  off  Capt.  Reeves  from 
pressing  his  claims  to  the  full.  In  short,  Philip 
was  forced  to  acknowledge,  that,  in  all  Mr. 
Glenn's  dealings  with  him,  he  had  acted  the 
part  of  a  friend  and  a  father,  though  he  had 
been,  as  all  his  acquaintances  freely  admitted,  a 
little  peculiar. 

Some  time  after  supper,  Philip  found  Mr. 
Glenn  seated  in  a  quiet  corner,  and,  seizing  him 
warmly  by  the  hand,  poured  forth  his  thanks  in 
the  warmest  terms  for  his  care  over  his  affairs. 

"  And  I  must  add,  Mr.  Glenn,"  continued 


342  LINSIDE  FARM. 

Philip,  "  that  I  have  many  times  done  you 
great  injustice  in  my  thoughts." 

"I  know  it,"  replied  Mr.  Glenn  hastily. 
**  I  know  it.  I  don't  wonder.  But  no  matter 
now.  I  knew  it  would  all  come  out  right  in 
the  end ;  but  how  could  you  know  ?  All  I 
have  to  say  to  you  now  is,  keep  on  as  you  have 
begun.  Don't  let  your  money  spoil  you." 

"  I'll  try  not,"  said  Philip,  laughing,  "  if  you 
will  continue  to  be  my  adviser." 

"  I'll  give  you  a  hint  now  and  then,  if  you 
want  it.  If  you  don't,  just  say  so.  Your 
father  and  I  were  great  friends,  and  I'll  help 

» 

you  all  I  can." 

"  I  shall  trust  you  hereafter,"  said  Philip 
with  emphasis. 

No  one  rejoiced  in  Philip's  good  fortune 
more  than  little  Johnny.  He  had  kept  shyly 
in  the  background  during  the  evening,  but  had 
looked  gayer  than  Philip  had  ever  seen  him 
since  his  mother's  death. 


,     TWENTY-ONE.  343 

"  If  I  only  had  some  one  to  tell  it  to !  "  said 
he  as  they  were  on  their  way  home.  "  It  would 
be  so  nice !  She  would  be  -so  glad  to  hear  about 
it." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Philip ;  and  nothing 
more  was  said  on  the  subject. 

As  Philip  was  taking  his  leave  at  Mrs.  Ham- 
ilton's, his  pastor  had  slipped  a  small  package 
into  his  hands,  with  a  few  earnest  words  to 
remind  him  that  not  only  had  he  come  into  new 
possessions  and  increased  honors,  but  that  new 
duties  and  responsibilities  were  now  crowding 
thickly  upon  him. 

When  Philip  reached  his  room,  he  opened 
the  package.  It  was  a  beautiful  Bible.  On 
the  fly-leaf  was  written  his  name,  with  the 
motto,  — 

"  Wherewith  shall  a  young  man  cleanse  his 
way  ?  By  taking  heed  thereto,  according  to 
thy  word." 

Philip  opened  the  book  to  a  familiar  place, 


344  LINSIDE  FARM. 

and  read,  "  Give  me  neither  poverty  nor 
riches :  feed  me  with  food  convenient  for  me. 
Lest  I  be  full,  and  deny  thee,  and  say,  Who  is 
the  Lord  ?  or  lest  I  be  poor  and  steal,  and  take 
the  name  of  my  God  in  vain." 

He  drew  a  pencil-mark  opposite,  on  the  mar- 
gin, as  he  had  done  in  his  own  old  Bible. 
"  Lest  I  be  poor  and  steal,"  he  repeated. 
"  Ah !  I  know  what  that  means."  Many  times 
he  had  prayed  that  prayer,  with  special  empha- 
sis on  that  caution  ;  for  he  had  learned  the  fear- 
ful power  of  temptation,  and  the  weakness  of 
him  who  trusts  in  his  own  heart.  "  Now," 
thought  he,  "  I  must  add  the  other  also.  I 
never  thought  I  was  in  any  danger  on  that 
side.  *  Lest  I  be  full,  and  deny  thee,  and  say, 
Who  is  the  Lord  ?  '  " 

His  prayer  that  night  was  full  of  thankful- 
ness and  humility  and  trust.  Under  his 
altered  circumstances,  he  consecrated  himself 
anew  to  the  Lord,  who  had  guarded  him  in  his 


TWENTY-ONE.  34o 

heedless  youth,  and  had  been  so  much  better  to 
him  than  his  fears. 

Not  long  after,  a  new  sign  appeared  over  the 
door  of  the  same  old  store.  Philip's  capital 
was  invested  in  the  business,  and  the  name 
became  "  Fassett  &  Landon."  Little  Johnny 
(he  will  always  be  little)  is  busy  behind  the 
counter  all  day  long,  as  German  clerk,  waiting 
upon  the  many  who  understand  no  other 
tongue  than  their  native  one,  which  is  also 
native  to  him.  He  is  accustomed  to  say  he 
wants  no  kinder  masters ;  and  has  no  further 
wish  but  to  be  laid  beside  his  dear  mother, 
whenever  he  shall  be  called  to  lay  down  his 
life. 

Nothing  gives  Philip  Landon  more  pleasure 
than  to  aid  the  deserving  ;  and  no  one  is  more 
charitable  to  those  that  fall  into  sin.  "  Consid- 
ering thyself,  lest  thou  also  be  tempted,"  is  his 
motto,  kept  ready  for  use  at  such  times.  For 
other  times,  he  has  other  sayings,  equally  apt ; 


346  LINSIDE  FARM. 

and  the  word  of  God  furnishes  them  all.  He 
has  not  yet  finished  his  course.  He  still  has 
his  "  life  to  live ;  "  and  living  according  to  these 
sacred  precepts,  and  trusting  with  humble  faith 
in  Christ  to  be  delivered  finally  from  all  sin,  he 
finds  it  to  be  the  only  true  and  safe  way  to 
"  L»ve  honorably !  " 


20578 


A    nn  -I  o  "'''""''il'ii 


